"...Bir kadının aşkıyla kıyasladığında onurun ne kıymeti kalır? Kollarına aldığın yeni doğmuş bir bebekle kıyasladığında vazifenin ne önemi vardır? Ya da gülümseyen bir kardeşin hatırası aklına düştüğünde... Rüzgar ve kelimeler. Rüzgar ve kelimeler. Bizler sadece insanız ve tanrılar bizi sevebilen yaratıklar olarak tasarlamış. Sevgi bizim en büyük zaferimiz ve en büyük trajedimiz."
And instead he hit the record button on his music writing software and picked up his bow. When he was done, when it was out of him, he clicked save. The computer asked him what to call it. He didn’t want to title it yet, but the file needed a name.
He typed: Not a Love Song.
And he believed it for a few weeks
“Sonya and Mac had some good substitutes for love songs. I guess I don’t like songs about love that much.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t really…They don’t feel real.”
She gestured to “Your Song” by Elton John, the bride’s processional. “It’s like ‘I wrote you this song to tell you I love you. By the way, I also hope to make millions off of it, so thanks, sweetheart.’ It feels very transactional.” She glanced up at him, and he tilted his head, watching her.
She continued, “I guess I like ‘Creep’ because it’s like, ‘I’m a weirdo and you ran out on me; at least I ought to make money off of it.’ I don’t know. Maybe I’m not explaining it well.”
“Anti-love songs,” he said.
Her eyes snapped up to him. That’s exactly what she called them herself. “Yeah.”
Ve bu daha varmamışçasına geçen zamanda, biraz sallanan yerde durmadan kala kalanım - ki bu bilinci ürkekçe tüketmek değil; daha ileri götürmek istiyorum oyunu.