(fiction tends to take a toll on my mind, as reality is too complicated to handle)
He rolls his noodles carefully around the fork. “There is no point thinking about how complicated things are he said…”
So while I make sense of the complicated, he puts his arm around me and keeps going through a random magazine lying on the floor. I told him the other day, how empty it would feel to just sit there and not know how to uncomplicate things. He smiled and said, if everything worked the way we wanted then why would we need each other?