Emma: While the moon is still up, I just can’t sleep. This unexpected cold that walks through my bones makes me drink hot tea all night. I’ll warm my veins, and I’ll see what happens. But I have this desire, to ask you. Tell me, Frank. Are you happy now?

Frank: I am not. What do you think, Emma?

Emma: Let me make a scene about man that’s not happy but lives like he is. A man with jokes in his pockets, music in his heart, and wine in his veins. Cold soul and blood. Dark eyes that can shine on each moonlight. Never afraid to lose anything. Never tried to turn fire on and off. Easy as a late autumn wind. You’ll always remember him if he walks into your life. Happy and sad. Melancholic. Watching the world like he created it. Empty diversity. With the perfect shape of any personality. Lived life as he can die any second. Never late. Careful. Gentle. Never learned how to smile. Lost everything in a moment. Found peace where he never expected it. Walks alone. Sleeps alone. Eats alone. I think you are happy, Frank. But you don’t know yet.

Frank: I guess I am. Tell me, Emma. You and I should say a good-bye for a little while?

Emma: I suppose so, sir.

Frank: And how do people perform that ceremony of leaving? Teach me, I am not quite up to it.

Emma: They say, “bye” or any other form they prefer.

Frank: Then say it.

Emma: What must I say, sir? I wasn’t intending to leave you, why would I say such a thing?

Frank: Because you are not intending to stay either. You’ll do nothing more than say bye?

Emma: It is enough, sir; as much good will may be conveyed in one hearty word as in many.

Frank: Very likely; but it is blank and cold.

Emma: Saying good-bye is a little like dying. Ultimately, it is not because of this or that we part from a person. You know how good-bye feels. How the air gets excited when all its ions and electrical charges are disrupted, first by the intent to leave and later by the leaving itself. Then, when the bodies move away through space, they create empty pockets where feelings get caught and eddy around in the vacuum, creating little vortices of relief or sadness or confusion.

Frank: Then never say that, Emma.

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