Is this truly a message for me? he shouts.
Worrying about someone – or not.
There’s nothing for you to concern yourself over, the woman says. (Spoiler: it’s really not that simple.)
One person was pulled into this against their will, by the actions of the other.
Out of the goodness of your heart, that’s why.
I’m telling you, that’s exactly what it was.
Take my word on it; yes.
This whole thing is going to have consequences for you/me.
Breathless when I speak about love/death – but I didn’t actually do anything wrong!
You helped me out, and I’m grateful.
The disposition of the message that was sent to me.
There has to be something you can trust, even when you don’t know anything else, the woman says.
You can question, but the blonde is sure about it.
She’s going/gone.
Oh, just something trivial.
The brunet performs an action with a jacket.
I (didn’t) think that you’re this type, the woman says.
Wandering separately – or together.
Only one is a wanderer, says the woman. (And sometimes they don’t come back.)
Thinking, in disagreement with the woman’s opinion.
We should fix that, the woman says.
Apparently a good long drive equals (presumably) sex.
How old (is my grief)?
The woman hasn’t been/isn’t here.
People die and yet this life continues.
This horrible knowing of death.
I know I (can’t) have her back.
Something dead is still here.
I (don’t) know how long it’s been.
You couldn’t feel the time.
The blonde leaves their conversational partner momentarily.
The woman’s name as we look at her, turned away.
Testing someone who won’t remember.
But they’re giving the wrong answers this time.
They didn’t respond at all.
The blonde turns someone down on something important.
They're helpless.
Walking down the corridor.
Fragments of that mirror still hang there.
Darkness versus light.
