Tonight

We need to say everything tonight. Because there won’t be another chance. This is the only night.

Do you think?

We have to say everything we can tonight. We have to communicate the most important things. Everything about who we are. About who we cannot help but be.

It’s all there in our simplest gestures. The history of our body. Our affective lives. All our essential loves and hatreds. Everything we’ve undergone. There it is: in our gestures. In the way we smile or the way we … kiss.

 

We’ll have to say and do and be everything tonight. Everything that we can be for each other. We’ll have to live and die entire lives, philosopher. Do you think that’s possible?

 

We need time, philosopher. The Pulse can give us time. To catch up with ourselves. To find a moment in which we can live.

 

Ask it for time, philosopher. Ask it to wait. We need time.

We need time to breathe. To get used to each other. To be with each other.

 

I’m getting accustomed to you, philosopher. To your ways. To your strange way of being. I’m beginning to feel at ease with you.

 

I could be a honey trap, philosopher. How do you know that I am what I say I am? That I’m not deceiving you.

I don’t think you’re a liar. I think you’re telling the truth. I can see it in you. You’re sincere.

Am I? I thought I was being ironical … and coquettish … and …

 

I’ve never had an affair, you know. I’ve never been tempted. I’ve never strayed. Oh I snogged a guy in New Zealand once. (Do you like that word, snogged? I saw you flinch.) But that didn’t count. I was on a kinda late gap year. Because I didn’t have one earlier on.

 

Am I sincere, philosopher? Do I mean what I say? It’s as though the saying were more important than what is said. The fact that I’m saying it. But now I don’t understand myself. What if I gave you a sincere kiss? What if I planted one on your philosophical lips?

 

I was ordinary when I was young I wasn’t anything special. I wasn’t particularly clever. I wasn’t especially soulful. I wasn’t anything, really. And now what am I? What have I become?

I don’t see why you should be especially interested in me. Maybe you like my wisftulness. Actually, I like my wistfulness. I like this experimental me. I like this kinda vague me. I like being adrift. I like the philosophical me. That’s who this is: the philosophical me. Who’s slipped free from Organisational Management – just for the night.

 

I want to say to my husband: I miss you, even when I’m with you. But that doesn’t seem very fair, does it?

 

An affair shouldn’t be trivial. It should be about something. If you’re going to betray someone, it should be for a reason. For something pretty fucking great.

 

All the best things are unrepeatable.