Pick and throw, fling it across the room. It hits the lamp and sends it toppling down, cords and wires getting tangling up. The lights flicker shut, a sheet of light between the crack in the curtains. You slide onto the floor and look at yourself in the mirror, reflecting only the top half of your face. Your eyes hurt, your nose hurts. Who ruined you?
“Okay, now I know you're drunk. We promised never to bring religion into this-“
“Yeah well I guess that there just comes a time when you have to look in the mirror and realize that you're living a lie-“
“You don't understand a single-“
“And I might never! And I don't care either way because from where I stand, it just looks like you're in so much denial. You're scared, and you always will be scared.”
“Don't make this about you and me. I'm not going to hell for you.”
They're the faces of change, the people you read about in the newspapers. When lines are blurred and people are accepting, when you realize the rules haven't changed a bit but the people have. Turn the page, read it all, they're telling you that things are all right. In what context is all right exactly?