"What is it that you fear?", she whispered, while looking straight into Redrose's eyes. Fear, he thought, was not of his concern, and was in any case related to the situation he was living or had lived with her. It was time that worried him more than anything else. Clocks. The flow of the river.
So Redrose thought he should think twice before answering. Slow it down, don't rush. Don't make it hard on both of you.
"Nothing" he replied back. A predictible answer. But how could Redrose explain? He and his notion of indirect faithfulness, of being there for a few only. Unable to embrace humanity in its whole, he had made a choice. A choice based on a simple fact: be there for the ones you care. And Redrose could only care for a few. Very few.
She was one of them. An important one. But she, fragile she, expected something else. And that something he could not give. How much longer would social codes make her suffer? Her past, her losses, her betrayals, her bleeding heart didn't help. And the word love, abused, violated to such extreme we don't even know when and how to use it. Our mistake, underrated mistake.
Her request was a projection in time of the intangible.
Redrose was looking at her. "We waste these moments by discussing a future that might not be, always one step ahead of ourselves." And after a short pause, while her eyes melted in the darkness of the room he concluded, "This is now and this is us. Future has no reason to be"
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