by Lorenzo Baehne

I sometimes wish I had in my brain a switch next to the illuminated image of you. A toggle I could turn off that this haunting would be exorcised. Or perhaps I could undergo a session beneath that clever contraption zapping the bits of Joel Barish's gray matter in which Clementine resides. Then I could be at peace and continue on my oblivious way.

At other times I see this thing of ours as utter perfection; a story the likes of which has not been heard since the gallant romances of yore. It's at moments like these I realize we have played, the two of us, starring roles in an unlikely drama from the whimsical hand of Fate. Then, think I, why ever would I deprive myself of beauty so sublime, this courtly love?