I heard of crimes, she said. I heard that there are crimes out there that we cannot even imagine, simply because of how they aren’t part of this world and we can’t feel or see them. I heard of these crimes.
He nodded, feeling the carpet and her locked gaze.
Yeah. I heard of these crimes. One crime is where someone loves so much that they lose themselves. They lose who they are and then they become an apparition in lieu of their lover’s life. They’ve essentially committed suicide. It isn’t that they essentially did, it’s that they did. They gave themselves up to some higher order that might not even exist. This person they love, that person might not even exist in the way that they think they exist.
She licked her lips and readjusted her position on the couch. The couch was her father’s before, and now it is still tattered and used.
See, she said, they might be completely different than the person who loves them believes they are. This person, this person that lured someone, wittingly or unwittingly, to give up their ghost for them, might live an internal life completely contrary to their expressed life. The way they live—the things they do and say—might be a lie. They might be lying to themselves or trying to convince themselves that they are one way, but they might be a lie. And they, a lie, let someone sacrifice themselves to a lie. Who do you think is worse?
What do you mean who do I think is worse?
Who do you think is worse? The person who lied to the world and reeled in a susceptible soul or the fragile capsule of lost thought that found meaning in an idol the sculptured out of a hint and chose to devote themselves to.
You shouldn’t say themselves. It’s ‘his or herself’.
Is it? I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I don’t know that stuff. You know that.
It’s okay.
You know? I think it’s both of their faults. Who’s worse? I can’t ask that question because those people are both so real to me that I can identify with both. So does that make me a contradiction?
Make you a contradiction? No. You’re you. If you were a contradiction, you wouldn’t be you. You’d be you and you.
I suppose so. I don’t know. I don’t really know. But isn’t that interesting that people consider it a crime to devote themselves to much to an image that they lose who they were?
People always do it.
I suppose they do. But so willingly?
What else should they do? Live without purpose?
No. They should find purpose.
They did.
Yes. But they should find purpose elsewhere.
She coughed and stood up. Do you want any water? She said.
No. He said.
I’m going to get some water. If you want water, you should tell me. I’ll get you water.
It’s okay. I don’t want any water.
Okay, she said. She went into the kitchen and saw a bowl in the sink. She opened the cabinet and took out a cup. She set it underneath the faucet and turned it on, filling her cup. She drank from the cup and poured the rest into the sink and set her cup inside of it.
You forgot a bowl in the sink, she said around the corner.
I know. I haven’t done it yet.
It’s okay. I wanted you to know. I’m just going to take care of it quick, while I’m here.
Okay, he said. He picked up the remote and turned the television on.
She picked up the bowl and a rag and poured soap on it. She turned the water on and waited for it to get hot. She then splashed the rag and washed the bowl and rinsed it out. She dried the bowl off and put it in the cabinet and walked back into the room.
So what do you think? She said.
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