“I met him and he was someone to remember…” (the lover saying: Who?) the silence for a moment after filled with the voice from the record player disembodied writing in her lover’s hand… “Not who you think.  The story he told me… worry adds not an hour to your life but that’s not what he was doing and why he did it I think everytime he saw us Benjy and I it was like a limbo to his choices because you see he only lived in Austin to be close to us to have us in that in between of a place for music and a man and his family a man as an artist for he wasn’t that kind that come to Texas and change his name for some failure because he wasn’t a failure and if his father was alive I suppose he’d tell him (my father) so…” (the lover his words—: and yes what are the reasons so—is it hope some bliss for what will I wake up to after you tell me will you still be here after the story is told the story as you tell it in the darkness his voice the impetus for my fingers and what happens when a hope dies will I die if I am not here if you are not here and we are not as thus time’s impish dream on what was that I said and what I say now remembering what I said what you say here with me when a hope is over because that’s what you want to tell me—isn’t it?  You already want to tell me how it will be over when enough is enough what you can’t confuse in your father and mother and their parents and will I be a father to who you tell the world is not yours but what your parents let go of as to all the reasons for the end of an affair.  Because you see I already know.  You’ve already changed my hope and in what you I know want to tell me the story I hear already in his voice what he wanted to be but only disappointment after disappointment and what this does to the hope to the story his music and whether it was even good enough for his father the one you say when you met him he was someone you would want to remember and this I see and know is my suicide…) “No,” Dulcinea said.  “My mother wants to say they did a lot of things wrong and it scares me of doing the same almost so I don’t want to do it.  I’m afraid.  I’m afraid that one day I’ll see you as a lie.  I fear the hope will become a lie what his father tried to tell him in how all new things pass away as old things and what do you change?  What do you change when you see it as lie?”  (the lover: but it’s not).  “Yes it is!”  (No!)  “Yes!  Let it be either this or that yet it is and you can’t do it.  My father never did it for the money to be loved yes maybe to love himself but I think even that changed after one hope after another never turned out the way he hoped it and then I think he just did it because he already was it—the hope—and everytime it died he died but then it still was always there.  The legacy of his music.  What she as a wife and a woman scorned.  For as a wife and a woman she was scorned by it—why I’m afraid—I fear this is the end of all love for if love has any end at all it is because it is named it is hoped as something else.  It becomes the past.  Something we all will have…

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