Our relationship exists like background noise. Like a black and white film playing in the background. The sound not quite right..a distant humming, something lacking, all the colours drained from it.. having to fill in the gaps inbetween the fade in and out scene changes. Colouring in our characters, willing yourself to overlook the obvious crumbling scenery in the background, the fake horizon, a bright but false promise of hope, the wilting leaves of a potted plant, under a lamp for so many hours of the day, take after take, trying to create the perfect moment. Trying to perfect someone else’s dream, their vision of what it’s trying to portray.

Desperately trying to decipher meaning and find deeper feeling in the pained expressions of the classic feverish heroine; delicate, malnourished, bewildered little woman.

Credits roll, orchestra plays.. still nothing, no conclusion, no ending, ongoing frustration, speculation. Death.

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