‘What if I am not made for this? What if I have been chasing the wrong dream all these years?’
‘Is it possible to have a wrong dream?’ Prue was smiling as she uttered the words.
‘My words are starting to haunt me and I can’t look them in the face anymore. I am afraid of my own words for they might express what I want to forget.’
‘Are you going to walk away now, Arthur? Who will you be without your dream? You have spent hours, day and night writing and now….’
‘…it is turning into a heavy load on my shoulders. I ache at the thought of it and I ache at the thought of abandoning it. I am tired of running after something that takes every possible turn to flee me. I am tired of waiting for a mirage. I am mourning literature and poetry, for they have died within me long ago. And you are too far away, to hear me. You won’t let me into your soul, Prue.’
‘You think I’m heartless. I don’t want to believe in something I can lose.’
‘You made me understand the pain for without suffering there is no poetry. I believe in you no matter where you are.’