"Do you love me," she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Why? I'm so damn reckless, so damn destructive."
"That's one way to look at it."
"What's another?"
"You are so alive, so determined to feel. So content on feeling the warmth from the sun, content on standing in the rain, content on looking up at the stars in the sky. So content on passion for the ordinary, until it becomes extraordinary."
She thought for a moment. Then responded, "but sometimes I'm so awfully dead inside. Sometimes I don't even know who I am or what I want? I'm not even sure I'm alive. Sometimes, I think my brain could just explode, all my thoughts scattered on the wall for everyone to see."
"Is that why you'd rather be alone? So no one can see?"
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