The continuity of reality

'You know those times where you have so much to say, but no words to say them?'
'Like feelings with no corresponding words?'
'Yeah. Like that.'
'Then don't speak.'
'Bu...'



'Come here.'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'Because I'm happy here. I've always been happy here.'
'Always?'
'Yes.'
'You sat there only ten minutes ago.'
'That's all I know. Ten minutes, ten minutes. I live in a continual progression of ten minutes. This is my always. I have nothing else.'
'Don't be ridiculous, you can't do that. You know that we went out for dinner an hour ago. You remember that, therefore this can't be your always. There's more to life than that.'
'We went out to dinner, where we fought. If I'd rather live in a way that erases everything but the present, I can never remember how much I've been hurt. Maybe I don't want anything more from life except this chair.'
'That's fantasy. There is a real world, you know.'
'And my reality is my world. If I prefer to live in fantasy, then what prevents it from being real to me? Something someone else says that I won't know in ten minutes?'
'Fine. Do what you like.'
'Fine.'


And then there were times when she prattled on without really thinking, just to numb the thought that he wasn't actually listening to a word she said. Catch 22 would pop into her head and she would retreat into a world of fantasy. Her relationship with books could never be damaged like this.