"It's probably the best way," her voice says, as she breaks up over the line.
She will always be going where the reception is in danger of failing, so she can be herself, in her own universe. And in that place, there is no room for me. I do not fit. Because I come attached to a million dreams, huge balloons that carry me in unknown directions. She falls in love, or she fights with a friend, or she just wants to dance, and she will not notice if she punctures a balloon of mine. But then her universe is quiet, and her imagination starts working without schoolwork in her head or a boy in her pants, and she remembers what happens when we are trying to make something, how thrilled she was to be the center of my attentions.
How far she swam to leave her universe and come into mine! She can't stay long, because that is not my nature, and she learns to fly, because escape will always be her desire. Other people will see us flying and shout "Look at those people in the sky!"
But can this ever happen outside of her dreams? Will she ever broadcast herself again to me? Because now she won't hear me. She no longer trusts me. Because she cannot listen to her own impulses nor trust herself, so how can she do these things with me?
"I am just like you," says me.
"No, no, nobody is," says she, and the reception breaks completely, leaving me in shocking silence, with her all alone in her dreams. She will drink and dance and get laid and maybe think of me in the middle of the night with a burst of anger or frustration, and think again that it is not her who has changed but me, and I cannot call her then and say: "I still want to watch you being you, and I am still looking for you, waiting for you to show me who you wish to be, so I can make a picture and say,
'Look, Maya, do you see?'"
Oh, she thinks, that person does not look like me!
But, Seanie, I love your picture.
Do you have more? Of me?