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mercuryhatterL. I just want to be looked at. I think that's what it is.
Her open palms face the sky, moonlight filling in the creases there.
M. I'm looking at you.
L. No. I don't want to be looked at. I want to make myself the perfect picture and I want everyone to look at that, with me suspended in the center of it. An exquisite model of glass and light. And I want to hang there and never leave. I want to be perfectly, archetypically understood. Darling, I want.
M. But that won't be you.
L. Good.
She closes her fists around the moon's dim reflection in them.
L. Good. Being myself like that would be unbearable.
M. I'll miss you.
Her voice is a peace offering on a gossamer string, too thin and tremulous to hold.
L. Yes, and won't that be beautiful too? Because you won't miss me, not after long enough. Eventually, I'll be the picture to you as well, and there will be nothing left of me in the universe to hurt. To really exist... my heart, it's impossible, and all the versions of myself held in the minds of others, all those versions out there pretending at existence, I can feel them scattered across the stars, and it just hurts too much. I simply can't bear it anymore, not for anyone.
M. It isn't enough for you?
L. No, darling. Not nearly enough.
L. I want.
A string snaps, and a thousand million strings in each scattered star echo the sound.
Her open palms face the sky, moonlight filling in the creases there.
M. I'm looking at you.
L. No. I don't want to be looked at. I want to make myself the perfect picture and I want everyone to look at that, with me suspended in the center of it. An exquisite model of glass and light. And I want to hang there and never leave. I want to be perfectly, archetypically understood. Darling, I want.
M. But that won't be you.
L. Good.
She closes her fists around the moon's dim reflection in them.
L. Good. Being myself like that would be unbearable.
M. I'll miss you.
Her voice is a peace offering on a gossamer string, too thin and tremulous to hold.
L. Yes, and won't that be beautiful too? Because you won't miss me, not after long enough. Eventually, I'll be the picture to you as well, and there will be nothing left of me in the universe to hurt. To really exist... my heart, it's impossible, and all the versions of myself held in the minds of others, all those versions out there pretending at existence, I can feel them scattered across the stars, and it just hurts too much. I simply can't bear it anymore, not for anyone.
M. It isn't enough for you?
L. No, darling. Not nearly enough.
L. I want.
A string snaps, and a thousand million strings in each scattered star echo the sound.
