I don’t know how many wild and ridiculous things I have to say for someone to realize it’s all an act. It was always an act. I don’t know where it ends or begins anymore. I suppose that’s why people like being in relationships. That’s where it ends, I assume.
But none of it makes any difference to me. That’s the act.
Or: it all matters to me. That’s another act.
So let’s sit down and count on our fingers and our toes the personality traits we define ourselves by. I’ll start, and you’ll follow. That’s how relationships work anyway. Please. Let me start. I promise it will all be worth it. I promise not to make a scene.