"It seems clear enough to me that the problem is that you are far too fickle, my friend!", he says, taking a certain delight in slowly drawling out the last bit. It is unfortunate for him that he has caught me in a mood that places no value on the opinions of others. An image flashes by in my head - I dislike arguments..often convincing. Something like that. Bob Dylan said something like that. It is now a stream, and I can't stop it. "Can't, or don't want to?", he slyly asks. Pshaw, why bother asking, it's not as though I care. "As though it even matters!", I say, immediately regretting it. I am in absolutely no mood to get drawn into any sort of argument at the moment, certainly not over something so absolutely inconsequential. "Fickle, I told you!", he says, with a triumphant smirk, and this time I know he is right. I'm surprised I'm able to admit this, and I feel as though my senses are slowing down as my blood stops rising, and things become a little clearer.

Of course, I am foolish to think that this will make him ease up; no, he's only getting started here. Whenever I'm in one of these moods, it seems pretty much destined that we will have tedious conversations that drift nowhere. "And so you really think it's true, what you read?", he asks, and I struggle to remember what he is talking about. It comes back, slowly, and yes, now that I recall it, I think it to be very much true. Extraordinary men, yes, I think I must be one of them. But..he doesn't realize why I think it true. Frankly, as I write this, I think it perfect nonsense, but no one can see that when I walk through a quiet street in the evening, that the world is open and that I can believe anything.

But this is all a joke to him, really. This doesn't really surprise me in the least, nor does it fill me with any desire to defend myself. Sometimes I think that maybe he is right after all, but such days are blemished from the moment the sun rises. Oh, what use is of talking about this any further? His mind is made up, as is mine, as it is every day; whether or not we are drawn into conflict is irrelevant. I can try to take my mind off it, but it can't be done; believe me, I've tried.

It is now time for him to truly go on the offence, and he asks "You suppose that you have the right to hold grudges when others do what you do every day?". He is stirring me up, I know it, but lord help me, I want to be stirred. I think he can sense that, we have a strange sort of relationship where our conflicts actually feed some needs of the other. "No doubt this is the time for your moral indignation, and mass condemnation", he laughs, and of course he is correct, but that is no surprise, he really does know me too well. But just because I think him right doesn't mean that I will let it pass, as I cry out "But I possess some basic decency! I would never put anyone in that situation!", again giving voice to my hurried pulse and pounding heart. It is very clear to me that he thinks it to be a flat-out lie, and I am not entirely sure whether I think it so too. I am far too easy a target after having made such a statement, and he needn't say a word to sow any seeds of doubt, because I do it myself. My mind races back through time, and images flash by. I want them to stop, I want him to stop, but..no use. He cannot resist anymore, and prods "What was it you said yesterday, so clearly in jest?". It is one of many times that I did what I am revolting against, it is true. Fie, but that was not to me, that was to..someone who could handle it. Is that really what I think? I feel as though it's all too much...

But suddenly, it clears. Daylight again. It must have been the sleep I had. It must have been the roses. He is gone, for now anyway. I know it wasn't a bad dream, but what's to stop me from treating it as such. Slowly, I feel the times being washed away, and start to see only what lies in front of me. I am not foolish enough to think that he will not come this way again, but it doesn't matter. The future's uncertain and the end is always near. With a bit of perspective, the moment is mine.