'hey,what if it's all wrong? maybe i shouldn't be here? maybe we've made a mistake and one day we'll find out that we don't love each other anymore?'
'ermm... i thought you'd like to be here. i thought you'd like to be with me. in this house. our home. and i thought that deep down you dreams only about bedclothes smelling of me.'
'yea, and you thought that i'd like this wall coulored green, but you didn't even ask if i want it and honestly i've always dreamt about having orange walls, honestly i even don't like green. i even don't like this city where dogs are crapping right on the streets and i don't like this house in the middle of technology jungle and i don't like your favourite red t-shirt and...'
'ohh, sunny, calm down.'
'don't call me sunny, it's so sadistic. better tell me how does your heaven look like, cause i know nothing of your kind. and all the time i think that we're just from the different fairy tales, yours is full of little elfs and dwarves and mine... mine consists only of princesses asleep because of too many vine drunken and princes in dark BMW, taking antihangover pills to help them. maybe even these dreams, mine about you and yours about yourself doesn't matter at all. i suppose i cannot love you, i'm just looking for a man like jeff buckley, so amazing but who'll die young. forget me, don't fool yourself. i'm only the abortive metaphor, inventor of emptiness and death.'