The last pages of a small book were swiftly closed as she walked toward an empty room filled with pages
She asked
What is all this? What is behind all these pages?
He said nothing
He looked around his whole mess of years of believing in his own art and creating factionless timeless entities that only he could understand, and without giving any explanation, he firmly stuck to his gut and kissed her

I am a weak man
Never have I ever been so desperate to hold someone other than my own contemplated tragic mind
She was an empathetic being like any woman and kissed him back
Two desperate souls
Out on their own Trying hard to make love Give love a chance Like last time when they both had their chances

She was a ballet dancer with a bad ankle
And he is trying his destiny
Trying to fight with his substance and getting killed to make a piece of art stand out
A small rented room
Inside a small neighborhood inside a small country Who have all given up
Inside the marchings of deaths that loom on each of our heads and the careless noises that we try to make when trying to be creative
Art, love, and creativity are only good when they come to you
And what have you done to make those things your own?
She asked
I looked at the pages and tried to give her an answer
But did not

I stared passionately like a child
And tried the beer that was close enough to the typewriter
The steel of junk that is rusted with overuse out of no good cause
Why is everything to you this nothingness that has no meaning? She asked
Because it makes us think, I said
Everything makes us think, death, the solar system, the bad habits that do not change, the beyond, and everything
And it is when you think too much that you get the herpes
I laughed
She laughed
I kissed her again
You know, you are more depressed than my husband who just drinks and drinks and keeps shut
And you drink and drink and don't keep shut
And that is why you are here and the rest follows, I said
She laughed and kissed me back

Under the city lights, numerous humans with the same contemplation
Happiness with no desire is just around the corner and we don't need happiness
Why? she asked
It is just what it is-we need suffering, melancholy, and depression to see things from a different perspective, otherwise, you wouldn't have come to my place in the first place
No, you are wrong
Opening the straps of her bra
Really? I asked
We kissed again
You know, us females, we like peace but we like danger, we like adventure, and most of all we like a man who is nothing but a shadow of his chase
What does that mean? I asked
She kissed me without giving me an answer
The winds started blowing through my window and I could feel each of her tiny hairs getting aroused with each little cold touch

But what is your definition of a man but a fantasy, and what really is a man but a hopeful touch of a symphony that tries to touch gold with each of its tries
Man is not that great, she said
And I nodded while kissing her breast
Man is a pathetic being that doesn't even know what he wants, she said
And you know what you want? I asked
We had more beer-we were naked and calmly watched each other with a simplistic notion of making it a good evening
You are getting old, I said
I know, and I am coming to terms with that, too-I do not want to get old but here I am, drinking my days with a bum
Bum? Ahh, I wouldn't say as much
I suppose I didn't hurt you much, right? she asked
No, it's fine, words are only a way of getting yourself off, to make you understand that you don't mean what you say, and if do mean what you say, then there is room left for you to change what you mean
That is too confusing but If I was sober, I would have fallen into your arms as my saviour

Inside the small room of an even smaller neighbourhood, lives are lived with varying curiosity, integrity, and suffering and we try to make it out alive each day with a knife or just an overcoat and a hat
I won't ever meet you again, she said
I said nothing
I am leaving my husband and going back home, maybe not even home, I will try and search for something that I can do for the rest of my life
She said giving the bottle its last bit of arch

It is what we all are doing, searching for something so we can name it our destiny.