She nods and hmms and looks back towards the bookshelves. Thinks about what he said, thinks about what she’s said to other people.
“Do you think it’s worth reading them to learn more about love, even if nobody’s ever written about...the kind of love that speaks to you? Like...I mean I haven’t read any of them, but the stories they make into street plays and puppet shows never seemed like the kind of—-“ She doesn’t have the right words for this, emphasized by her inarticulate gesture before she switches tracks entirely. “I mean what’s romantic, really? Flowers? Poetry? What if you don’t like those things? Does that make you not romantic? Or is it different for every person?”
She’s rambling now, but what do they say about objects in motion?
“If it is different, then how come all the stories end up the same?”
no subject
“Do you think it’s worth reading them to learn more about love, even if nobody’s ever written about...the kind of love that speaks to you? Like...I mean I haven’t read any of them, but the stories they make into street plays and puppet shows never seemed like the kind of—-“ She doesn’t have the right words for this, emphasized by her inarticulate gesture before she switches tracks entirely. “I mean what’s romantic, really? Flowers? Poetry? What if you don’t like those things? Does that make you not romantic? Or is it different for every person?”
She’s rambling now, but what do they say about objects in motion?
“If it is different, then how come all the stories end up the same?”