Tonight you stoop to my level. I'm your mangy little whore. Now you're
trying to find your underwear, and your socks, and then the door. And
you're trying to find a reason why you have to leave. I know it's cuz you
think you're Adam and you think I'm Eve. And you rhapsodize about
beauty and my eyes glaze. Everything I love is ugly, I mean really
-- you would be amazed. And just do me a favor, it's the least that
you can do. Just um... don't treat me like I am something that
happened to you. I am...I am...I am... truly sorry, sorry about all
this. And you plot a tiny pin prick in my big red balloon. As I slowly
start to exhale, it's when you leave the room. And I did not design this
game. I did not name the stakes. I just happen to like apples, and I
am not afraid of snakes. I am...I am...I am... truly sorry about all
this. I hearr you and your anger hurts I hear that it's with,
with with.... So I let go the ratio things set, things hurt. As I
leave you to your garden, and the beauty you prefer. I wonder whether
this will have meaning for you, when you've left it all behind. I think
I'll even wonder if you meant it at the time.