Love Isn't Black And White

I'm tired. I am sick of it. Tired of hurting ye. Like ye don't have enuff shite to be dealin with, ey?

I sit 'ere, watching o'er these here books and booklets. Trying to find a way to fix all of this. Make it better.

Why can't I find a bastard answer, ey?

Nothin' is rite, I ain't goin' to lie to ye.

I spend too much time in me room. And it's a huge room, eye, that is true.

I am sick of it. I am tired of it all, Mad Wife, I tell ye.

This rivalry, this fight, call it what you want, this bastard thing 'ere we always go back to.

No matter which one of us wins in the end, we all lose.

And you think once ye come out here and look at what is happen'ng that ye going to like it a wee bit more than the inside.

Then you realize nothin' is the same and yet the same feels like shite.

Sometimes it is much easier to numb yerself until ye can't feel a dam thing.

It's easier than most things, ey. I can already feel it kickin' in, ey.

Makes ever'th'ng around ye fade alongside ye.

---

I see 'er goin', there. ey.

Now what do ye think this story will be, eh?

Another one to add to the collection, ey.

So what--what ye want me to do, ey, take a number, wait on that number to be called?

I am tired. Sick of waitin'.

Don't you see, that love isn't just black and white?

Aye, it has many colors.

So I'll take a number, aye, and await my turn patiently.

I'll always wait fer ye, Mad Wife.

---