“A heart that hurts, is a heart that works”

It feels like the conversations are scripted; words that have been given much thought in the corners of our mind before they escape our lips. Spontaneity no longer exists between us, neither do conversations without awkward pauses and silence. Meals are eaten with fierce concentration, not to the food, but to what should or could be said, but then nothing comes to mind, thus nothing is being spoken. Questions are asked not out of piqued curiosity, but mostly out of courtesy or feigned interest. Or because it’s expected, as the normal response. Movement around one another is carefully orchestrated in a way so it doesn’t impose on the other, yet at the same time is at one’s own guarded distance. Love and affection do not come into the equation because they are sincere, but merely because expressing them has reduced to being an obligation.

And then comes the little one – the one who carries no hate nor spite in her blood; the one whose laughter radiates sincere warmth – and it all makes almost perfect sense as to why we continue pretending.

We’d make the perfect stage play, won’t we?

Scala & Kolacny Brothers – Creep