“I only have a day to give—so why can’t it be a goodone? Why can’t it be a shared one? Why can’t I take the music of the moment and seehow long it can last?”
“Why is this,” she asked, again in that dreamy tone, “so much more real than that? One’s night, one’s day, why is this so much more real? That I can’t forget the things from the day, and I can’t remember the things from the night?”
“The birds can flyAn’ why can’t I?”
“I’ve always wondered why love has to be so full of conflict and strife. Why can’t love be simple? Why can’t it just be as pure as two people who realize that they can’t live as well, or as happily, apart as they can together?”
“Why are the only happy endings the ones where the couples get together?” I ask. “Can’t they just be friends? Can’t that be a happy ending too?”
“Why can’t I quit you?”