amazing song

c215 fridayç

The same song kept on playing. The airport restaurant was cold – quarters left on the bar showed an imprint of steam from the warmth of your sweat. She thought: Personality not a stick, personality more of a web than a stick. The bartender refilled her glass. She said: A sponge.

            Excuse me?

Breakups force you to control what you think about: avoiding to think about the bad- the end of a relationship, for example, punctuated by the smell of the public washroom in the Departures terminal- and your ability to replace the bad ideas with ones you consider positive. The same song kept on playing- it seemed that there was something wrong with the sound system, but she liked the song and so she let it go.

            Can I ask you a question?

            Why not

            The quarters?

            It’s nice to count them


            Sorry, I meant to say that sometimes I like to count them. It’s like, not up for interpretation


            You never really look at five quarters and get into an argument if there are four, or in how much you like the quarters, and where you’re going together.


            Exactly, it’s honest: You count four quarters, and there are four quarters there. You don’t get your hopes up, you don’t think about anything except that you counted four quarters and there they are.

            You mean five.

Alcohol is the surest way to soothe your pain for three to five minutes. Some prefer tobacco- smoking in the most dramatic fashions, looking over a city, or field, through a window- or hukka, surrounded by friends, helping you steer thoughts towards Good; or other substances, all acting to fill the same gap, the place that now seems a space. Your self: They had visited it, shared with it, and, well, in the end, kind of said that they did not like it. 

            This is the last I can serve you – can I get you something to eat?

Ignoring reactions to steer them elsewhere has its side-effects: They end up lost- oh, nothing makes sense anymore- or on an old memory- the time in the museum, in the Transportation Treats exhibit, when you wore the motorcycle helmet, and managed to think about nothing, although surrounded by friends. Why did I think of that?

You knew this approach was really bullshit: There were good or bad thoughts so much as there were good or bad people: Babies born evil, bent on world domination: Things happened to you, or you made things happen, and then categorized them based on how you were taught to think, filtered to Good or Bad: It was never that everything experienced was soaked up and changed you in some way, changing your behaviours, reactions, and ideas: The source of your strengths: They had brought you here, to today.

            Can you change the fucking song already. 


word by Liam Lachance

colour by c215

read the previous scene here 

read the first scene here

Author: Word and Colour

words inspired by colour

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