Open on her voice, rising thinly from the bed.
Listen here, kid. Because I've got some things to tell you. I've got some things you need to hear.
Love is not the be all and end all of life. Love is not all you need, love lifts us up and then thumps us right back down on our tender little bottoms. Yeah, that's right, ouch.
What I mean is do not think you have a monopoly on the tragedy and do not think you have a monopoly on the passion and do not think you have a monopoly on the rage or wildness or beauty, and no, especially not on endurance and eternity.
Yeah, sweet new lovers. You will be together forever. You are your own little island, and your own little microcosmic community, and your own little universe. Yeah, whatever. There were others before you and there’ll be others to come. What you have is a small reflection, a hint of the real stuff, a diluted taste of the concentrated form.
Here’s what: if you can handle love and its loss appropriately then you can maybe embrace the whole of this restless universe.
Cut to her mind, backing up:
Did I come across as too harsh? Trying to tell myself to deal with it. Trying to remind myself I am not the first or the only one to land like this. Hey. Shape up, lady. There is plenty of rage and passion out there. Ripe for the taking, pregnant promises. Don’t pretend to be lost without intensity. Hurricanes dance plenty tough. Enough with the self-pity.
Cut back to the bed, fetal crumpled shape sobbing hysterically.
It is really laughter at her own pathetic self. It is really the remains of internal storm washing away. Don’t worry.