mortimer warning.transcript under the cut.NANCY: Dear, MortimerYou’ve always said to love you is to
mortimer warning.transcript under the cut.NANCY: Dear, MortimerYou’ve always said to love you is to hate some part of yourself, which for me, had never been true until that moment—that evening—in the summer. It was picture perfect, as everything you do is, right until it wasn’t. In a happier story, in a story with a different conflict, this would have been the ending. Another version of us tells this story to our kids, I’m sure, and they gasp at the romance, the grandeur, the fact that you knew me so well as to take me to my favourite restaurant and present me with such a beautiful ring. It’s a shame this isn’t that story, in the same way it’s a shame you didn’t love me enough for me to say yes.I wasn’t lying, you do have my heart, Mortimer, I’m certain you’ll carry a piece until the end of your days. In all of the games we’ve played—with each other, against each other—it was only that moment, when you held that box in your hands with that question on your lips, that I truly realised. My own hands were empty, of your heart, your trust, your promises and affection. That emptiness—the nothingness I kept trying to get a hold of, forever out of reach, that’s why I said no.I hate to ask something more from you than forgiveness, yet I do so anyway. Saturday. 8 o’clock. I hope to see you then.Yours, always,NancyEMMETT: You ok, man? You look fucking spooked.MORTIMER: Oh. I’m great. -- source link