( it becomes obvious what parisa is doing just a touch too late to nip it in the bud, as she ordinarily would — making plans for the future. a criminally unlike her thing to do, for several reasons, not the least of which is because her shelf life as a beautiful, fuckable woman is closing in around her. a few more years and her assets are going to wrinkle and droop and gray, and if one follows the direction of these letters, where does that leave her? in another world, at the whim of a man's interest in her. of course, that man is emmrich. of course, it's difficult to imagine his love for her is fleeting, passing by with the wind. but even then, these lessons have been hard learned through a lifetime of education, and very basis of parisa's philosophy on life counters these letters in the fabric of the words, the skeletal marrow of meaning. parisa always knows the exit route of any room she's in, and she always has a backup. there's nothing she can't replace if she has to.
except, there is emmrich. a different kind of equation.
she mulls over responding, different tactics to the same outcome. whether parisa believes in permanent, honest love is the whole crux of the issue — because she doesn't, not really. every one of her family members loved her to a point. every relationship she's ever had has been functionally the same, except for this one. unconditional love is a myth perpetrated by children's animated feature films in the name of population control, turning little girls into little lesbians when no man matches up to prince charming. parisa is, first and foremost, a realist. and while emmrich might be generous with his affection, might even mean everything he says, parisa is too well trained to believe in the permanence of anything.
even if, maybe, she wants to. believe. maybe. )
Emmrich
What if you tire of me? Don't say it's impossible — I assure you, it is very possible. I'm remarkably tiresome. I can list references if you don't believe me, and you would probably make that list, by the way. I found a gray hair the other day. Several of them, even. I'm going to age like spoiled milk. What if I follow you home and eventually I lose whatever made me attractive to you? I'm not getting any younger, and a woman like me has her golden years, which are already coming to a close. What if I'm in a new world and something happens to you, and I'm alone?
I am tired of running, for the record. I think I was born tired. I don't think I've ever wanted anything in life as much as a place to belong, but I don't think I can belong to a place that isn't in my control, which I understand sounds completely insane. I am an insane person, probably. That's what life has done to me.
If you really mean it, and want to live this relationship beyond our captivity here, then I want to. Logistically, I know the equations of how to make new worlds, and the philosophies behind it. At the risk of sounding overambitious, while admitting there is plenty of room for failure, we could make one that suits us, if I find the right people and parts to help.
The question is: do you want to become gods with me? And at what cost?
Parisa
( she leaves this one unfolded on his desk, face up, watching him read it while she's tucked into his bed, nakedly pinning the covers to her chest. )
no subject
except, there is emmrich. a different kind of equation.
she mulls over responding, different tactics to the same outcome. whether parisa believes in permanent, honest love is the whole crux of the issue — because she doesn't, not really. every one of her family members loved her to a point. every relationship she's ever had has been functionally the same, except for this one. unconditional love is a myth perpetrated by children's animated feature films in the name of population control, turning little girls into little lesbians when no man matches up to prince charming. parisa is, first and foremost, a realist. and while emmrich might be generous with his affection, might even mean everything he says, parisa is too well trained to believe in the permanence of anything.
even if, maybe, she wants to. believe. maybe. )
( she leaves this one unfolded on his desk, face up, watching him read it while she's tucked into his bed, nakedly pinning the covers to her chest. )