Mae's heart is always broke.

"Love isn't what it use to be."

"Me without my hearing aids."

"Is it just my legs that get your attention?"






"Yes."

"Idiot."

"Right."

"I don't think I told you this before, but I don't know the difference between love and hate."

"Hate is one feeling I don't need to rehearse for."

"You are method."

"Dig."

She lined her cigarettes on the table. "I practically moved all of my furniture into his house. I wrote sonnets to him and saved all of his emails." She picked one and rolled it between her fingers. "I bathed myself in his cellphone self portrait's, and watched--in my mind our future kids tumble down the stairs."

"Even the banal ones?"

"What?"

"The emails."

"Yea. All of them."

"Ah banality. I knew this about you."

"My smoking?"

"No, with relationships you get embedded. I don't hear from you; and then every now and then I get these cryptic messages from the front, on how his braided chest hairs are so beautiful... "

"Sigh."

"Yea. Sigh."

"That's my problem though I keep looking. I don' t know what for, and maybe shouldn't. I'm doing all this looking around, waisting all of this time, all of it seems like something other than love.

"Somethings wrong."

"Yea, and comfort is proving to be brief from both polarities."