“So, what, you really think that you can make some kinda cohesive conversation that’s not just a call response kinda deal? Like we both know that I’m hot shit n’ all that, but I really don’t think you can really convey the yells and whispers of conversation into a written format, what with your writing ability being what it is right now.”

“Oh is that right? I make one bad chapter and all of a sudden I can’t write even two amorphous blobs talking to each other for three seconds? I can write drama! I can write poetry! I can write emotion!”

“Ha, yeah right. I mean like, has anyone ever really expressed an interest in seeing your “beloved creations”? Like really. I mean sure, they’re gonna say they “like it and its so deep and subversive” but when it really comes down to it? They’re just humoring you.”

Quieter “Please stop”

“I think we’ve come to an agreement then. I’m right.” Pause. More withdrawn, now. “Look, I’m not trying to be difficult here, or to paint you as the bad guy, or anything like that. It’s just that I worry about us getting hurt. But I think that we both know the thing that you’re really scared of. That people will give you honest feedback. That you’ll try your heart out and it won’t be enough, that you won’t be good enough, because if your best efforts with something that makes up a large portion of your identity is shit, what exactly does that say about you. “

“Wh-”

“Quiet. We know what we’re going to do. We’re gonna drop this hobby. Do something completely useless and normal and safe instead. Play a video game for six hours a day. Read a book you’ve read a dozen times. Watch advertisements on Cable TV.”

“But that won’t work for us! I mean sure, it’d be fun-”

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“Very fun”

“-For the first few weeks, or months, but I think that we’d just wind up feeling empty. We’ve done this all our lives, and felt empty. And what you’re saying is that we should just stay like that? Forever? Because we’re scared?”

Louder, now. “It’s not - We’re not fucking scared. We have to do this because we’re smart. We have to do this because we’ve learned from our mistakes and won’t make them again.”

“What mistakes? When have you ever tried to make something of yourself? I’m being serious, name one time.”

Slower, still forceful. “Are you contradicting me.”

“Yes.” Exhale. “I think we should take a step back.”

“You think that, now?”

“I tell you what. What if we came to a compromise of sorts?”

Brusque “What.”

“We won’t write for other people. Not a word. We won’t show them, or show that part of us. We’ll write for ourselves. Heh, it can be a whole romantic thing with notebooks hidden behind floorboards.”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead doing something so blase.”

“Fine, hidden google doc files.”

Scoff. “Alright.”

“One more thing.”

“What.”

“I love you.”