The Dilemma

“So, you think we shouldn’t talk about it?”

“You want to know about my silence?”

“I want to know what makes you mum and what breaks that vow of quietness. How you fix that broken button of your shirt, if you fix it at all! Do you take long strides or walk with steps as short as those sentences that you utter?”

“That is a long list, Ann”

“Short for one-life time, given you, that is something I can safely bet on!”

“You love arguments, don’t you?”

“I love perspectives, choices, digressions and discussions. Amalgamations of which makes us feel alive and connected. A single string that can be drawn and twisted at will between two souls and stretched infinitely across the matrix of such strings throughout the globe.”

“I can’t give you the seat on which my soul rests, you cannot fasten the string onto that seat.”

“I never said, I would. That is your first presumption. Strings need not be fastened to connect them, they need to be held with care and compassion so that they are stretched lightly or else the pull might suffocate them. And Mr. Traynor, strings don’t take to suffocation very well, they break. You may tie them again but the knots remain, forever.”