Fake Plastic Trees

"It’s tragic."

"What is?"

"How wasteful it all was. Years gone, never to be seen again. Not like they could be seen again. It’s in the past. Everything is in the past. Just like now… and now… and now. The sun won’t stop coming up."

"That’s only one way to look at it. You’re only young. There will be more times for your soul to be destroyed. But, now I am being as dramatic as you and no one wants that. This place couldn’t handle two of you."

"Maybe you’re right, on the first parts. The latter is irrelevant. There is me and only me… I’m sick of playing coy. I’m sick of the run around. I am sick of the pretending. Nothing is real anymore. I’ve been thinking for a while now that it never was. This place, these people, this life, it all feels likes fake plastic trees."

"Can’t you find anything to smile about these days? The sun still comes up. You love the sun shine."

"The only sunshine I want is the kind that slips through her pores and stumbles out of her eyes like she does when she comes home in the middle of the night."

"And who says all hopeless romantics are dead?"

They left their glass on the table as they stood up. The humidity had left remnants of perspiration. The unforgiving Florida heat doesn’t let up, even in April. These late night meets had become routine. Memphis was always talking Schuylar away from the edge of a cliff. The two had been friends. Good friends. The best of friends. Enemies. They had been through a lot. Too much, depending on who you ask.