In bed, the next morning.

He: I’m sorry I’m such a jerk.

She: What are you talking about.

He: I slapped you across the face.

She: You didn’t.

He: I took your love and openness and drove all my anger and frustration into it.

She: You did.

He: I hate myself for doing that.

She: You hate …

He: I hate whatever comes up.

She: What comes up?

He: This feeling bubbled up, this…

She: This frustration.

He: Yes. This sense of the cage, the walls up.

She: I am trying to love you.

He: The constraints feel so inflexible.

She: I am trying to make this work.

He: I want to feel in love with you —

She: You said …

He: But not in this moment, not now.

She: (pause) I never want to fuck you with your walls up.

He: I never want to push into you when you’re not open.

She: I don’t want to —

He: To do things, to draw your walls up.

She: I feel afraid.

He: Taken for a ride. Almost.

She: No promises.

He: Vague intentions.

She: Sometimes.

He: Yes.

She: It feels like time is slipping past me.

He sits up.

He: I feel unaccepted.

She: I am juggling a lot of balls.

He: Unacceptable.

She: I’ve explained this.

He: Your balls are too many. You said, when you juggle …

She: The juggling of balls has a rhythm. Each ball has a rhythm and it changes with each toss and …

He: Our rhythm is out of sink.

She: It’s sync.

He: Exactly. Out of sync.


He (continues: If the balls get out of whack, you let them drop. Pick them up. Nothing is broken.

She: Nothing is broken.

He: Is that true?

She: Every time there is pain, something is broken.

He: I slapped you hard across the face.