It's seven in the morning and Ben and I are sitting on the cliff, legs swinging.
What do we do now?
Live in the moment, baby.
I don't think I like this particular set of moments.
Okay then, let's drink some coffee and watch the sun come up.
And then what after that?
You plan too much. What about just taking things as they come?
What about actively seeking your dreams?
Tell me your dreams.
I don't know what they are anymore. Things have changed so much. I used to know. I used to have a plan.
And what happened?
Life happened and my plans fell apart.
Right, so maybe plan less and watch more sunrises and maybe a new plan will come about.
How much time did you spend with Jacob again? You sound just like him.
More than you might realize. I kind of liked the guy.
Shut the fuck up.
I cross my heart, pig-a-let.
Hey Ben?
Yeah, Bridget?
You're totally ruining this moment, imitating him.
But you're in it now, at least. And that's what I was aiming for.
Well you got it. Straight through the heart.
Yeah....
Yeah what?
Oh nothing, I was waiting for you to break into that Bryan Adams song.
I said straight through.
Close enough.
Not even.
If we keep bickering we're going to miss the part where the colors fade.
You need to stop reading my blog.
I can't help it. It's fascinating. It's like the junk drawer of your brain.
Really? How so?
A scrap of REM lyrics, some love letters, a paperclip bent into the shape of a heart, some dead birds, a thousand seashells, some faulty, unlit stars and a Slipknot CD you didn't tell anyone you still had. It's a shadowy drawer though, hard to see everything in it. I bet it keeps going forever, you can just keep pulling it out and you never reach the end.
Sounds perfect.
Kinda like you.
My eyes filled up and I shook my head. Not even close. But I know what's in your junk drawer, Benny.
He wagged his tongue at me, Kurgan-style. Yeah baby.
No, not that junk drawer.
Okay, what's in it? Serious now.
It's empty save for a guitar pick and a pair of rose-colored glasses.
Exactly. Now tell me, Bridget. What the fuck is cerulean?
