the truth hurts less than little white lies behind which lovers hide.

Current mood: working
Category: Life

The song rises to an operatic climax as Andre Bocelli's voice reaches loud emotionally stimulating proportions. The song ends with the camera remaining high above and to the southwest of the golden gate bridge as the car joins other cars in a frame of the magnificently beautiful structure. The car is lost from view as the audience can no longer tell theirs from the next, this story from a myriad of others no less worthy of being told. Hopefully the audience feels some type of longing for the story to twist towards good fortune, the young lovers eventually mending the tattered quilt of adolescent love the product of which is a marriage and a child born of love.

The scene switches to a cheesy St. Petersburg apartment complex parking lot as a sea gull chews the remnants of a late night burrito purchased right up the street. A car drives by and scares the bird as
we're led into the room where the two lovers are arguing about this, that, or the other. It appears that he is enduring yet another Welbutirn induced bout of hysteria. Somehow an abundance of dopamine has misled the foolish youth into believing the best way to bring an end to an enjoyable summer away from the BS awaiting eagerly 17 hours northwest in an Indiana town , was to act in an hysteric fashion in which all rational thought was thrown out the window. His coca mime scheme was to drive her so far away that she left him, alone, lost in a Floridian studio apartment, never to rise above the muck of self loathing and perpetual fear.

Voices are raised to levels near deserving of a domestic disturbance call as the audience begins to realize that the fight is petty, she was frustrated with the stubborn manner in which he latched onto and fed a horribly demented mood. Somehow he has her pinned on the ground and has opened a Corona beer bottle to pour on her head.

"Joshie, what are you doing, no please, leave me alone, please joshie,
no...."

He is immune to her pleads for the fires of disbelief have been fed by little white lies that had long since descended far along the slippery slope. The cold beer leaves the end of the bottle and falls upon her head, washing away any hope that he would release her from his grip.

"You need to be degraded," he boldly stated, " you need to be degraded for being nothing but a lying bitch this entire summer."

Not an ounce of concern is visible on his face as his girlfriend lay there in a puddle of corona on a dirty carpet in a small studio on the pristine St. Petersburg beach. He leaps to his feet and heads out the door to enact a scene in which his "other" personality feels remorse for
having done such a horrible act to any living creature on this planet. Simultaneously the voice of selfish interest stokes the fires which amounted in this evening's unfortunate events. He has accomplished
something by releasing his contempt for his girlfriend in a show of "control." At that moment he was more powerful than she, at that moment he might have been the smallest living creature on the face of the planet, or at least in the contiguous 48 states.

She rises to her feet, washes off her face, throws on a small blue Billabong lid cap, and grabs her cigarettes, lighting up while chasing after him. She's confused, she felt and feels the ultimate connection with this boy and yet he continues to push her away and treat her as if she is worthless. "Well, not worthless but close," was suggested to have been muttered from his mouth to her ear one late night after an all night whiskey and kind bud session of disappearing from life's problems.

The lump which "grew" in her throat the night those words were uttered choked the fountains hope, drying up all glands within and around her mouth and esophagus. She could barely breathe; she could barely believe that this was happening. Not her Joshie, he wouldn't want to hurt his BINK.

The camera fades out and into the local Gourmet Pizza joint to the steaming chicken parmesan pizza upon a red checkered table cloth. Smoke surrounds and envelopes the young couple in a fog as real as that which their minds and the state of their relationship is clouded by.

"You know I love you, it's just that I can't control myself
sometimes, I have a feeling it might be the medicine.“ He always used this as an excuse for his juvenile tirades.

"I know, I just don't understand Joshie, I love you so much it hurts and you treat me as if I'm worthless."

Inside she's screaming, hateful of the way she's treated. She wants to cry the tears of a thousand fears.
She wants to disappear and rematerialize in a world much like this one, only one where sex solidified their bond, where every moment he was inside of her if paused and looped on repeat till the end of time would be her definition of paradise.