N was standing at the windowsill. N was wearing a loose white muslin dress. The thickness of a late afternoon sun dripped gently into the room and lit up the triangle beneath her legs, filled the holes she made with hands on hips.
"I need some space from this new friendship," N said. "I simply need some space. I need to talk to you a little less."
"I'm having a blue period," N continued. "I'm in a rather transitory state. I'm feeling monochrome. I'm feeling sombre. I turn on the television and everything is forcibly tired, like a set of plastic pliers pulling down on fragile eyelids. I watch the news and feel depressed. It’s laced with poison, that whole industry. It’s thick and heavy, full with sick.”
“I loathe my cupboard,” N went on. “The thin little wooden doors. I open it up and I want to burn everything inside.”
“I think I see you too much," N repeated. "We need to amend that. Let’s have some space. Let’s keep this casual. Let’s be our own people. Yes I know we are our own people. But let’s remember that. Let’s be apart sometimes. Let’s slow things down. Give me back that DVD, yes that one. I’ll watch it a second time on my own.”
