It's about abandon, that thing we spend so much time thinking is so scary, a little apocalypse on the horizon -- a singularity on the other side of which is the unimaginable, but where we will no longer be ourselves -- and when you dive into it, when you are brave and let it happen, it's not scary at all. It's not oblivion, it's the opposite. You're not gone, you're more there than ever.
Alicia: "You broke up with Laura?"
Will: "Other way around."
Alicia: "That sucks. Are you still friends?"
Will: "I don't know. I'm not great at that one, clearly."
Eve took the fruit, Eve bit the fruit / Juice ran down her chin
Babies will put things in their mouths / Who've never heard of sin
You can see the moment when she decides to go ahead and push it just a little farther. We think sometimes that we're pressing a bruise, like it's about closure, but closure doesn't exist and we are very rarely actually doing that. She reaches out for oblivion, a little bit. She tests it, like butter in the pan. This week happened to be unseasonably hot, in Cook County.
Alicia: "I think she thinks I was ... getting between you two."
Will: "[Nothing, because what do you say to that? Congratulations, obviously you were/are?]"
Alicia: "That kiss, it opened something up. A door, and I don't know how to close it."
Alicia: "But it's going to just end up like last time."
Will: "Alicia, what the fuck was last time?"
Eve had to ask, Eve had to ask / What is wrong with this?
Here is the place, now is the time
Alicia: "I don't know. But it'll be worse. Because I'll be doing it on purpose. And I'll have a husband, a real one this time. And I can't figure a way out of it."
Will: "So what do we do?"
Let's invent the kiss.
They're still kissing, still terrified, when Diane knocks on the window -- looking in, through a hole through their steam -- and hisses at them to get their gross asses inside for the trial. Will assures her that, after the case is over, they'll talk. "To hell with the bad timing," he says, they'll talk. Red, green, red.
The thing about passion is that it's sanctified, sure. Without guilt, or shame, you can't sin. Passion melts us like butter, and becomes the storm, and every time is like the first time, like a shock of new discovery, territory off any map. But that's only true -- only easy -- when there's no reason to be guilty. When it's clean.