| Cantara: |
|
(inhaling sharply, then blowing her nose) Ugh—this poem is so wimpy! The author sounds like a soggy handkerchief dipped in second-rate melancholy. I want to shake the author until his teeth rattle. Life is too short and precious to dwell in gloomy or pessimistic thoughts!
|
| Tim: |
|
(chuckling and leaning back with a loose, careless grace) Yeah, the guy’s such a tragic cliché. He’s stuck in emotional rigor mortis. |
| Miok: |
|
(frowning slightly, voice measured) Perhaps isolation makes sense in a way? Human love nearly always drifts toward disappointment, doesn’t it? We yearn for warmth, but often end up getting scorched. Choosing not to love might or too intimate with any human be a good survival strategy. |
| Tim: |
|
(calmly) Disappointment and pain are simple parts of life along with joy and delight! Seriously, Miok, pain’s no curse. It’s a teacher. If we’re disappointed, it means we dared to hope. I regard fear as a gatekeeper, testing who’s brave enough to pay the cost to love. |
| Chris: |
|
(quietly, looking away at a rain-streaked window) At some point, many people become tired of being brave and some scars shut us down. (Chris then lowers his head and stares at the desk, locked in thought. His silence swells, broken only by the sound of the rain) |
