And so, progressively, her questions become more stupid. Hand in the fire stupid, eating broken glass stupid, forgetting that you don’t like pain stupid. Stupid then and stupid when, on a terribly, dreadly sunny day comes the most ridiculous, nauseous, frustratingly stupid question of them all.
On the wall high above the graffiti of all the things I could never bring myself to say, she turned to me just as the sun turned away and (thinking, in her stupidity, that it couldn’t see or hear us) asked: "Will you love me forever?"