Scattered Dreams

I don't know if you notice that I'm here. I've been here since the day we got married. It was all so beautiful then. So many dreams! Do you remember?

The person speaking is a young woman seated on a chair. In her eyes you can see the suffering she tries to keep from showing on her face. It seems that the years of pain have washed away the beauty that one day adorned her face. She's talking to her husband, who without responding, keeps on walking around the house, ignoring her in a cruel manner. She keeps talking.

Many beautiful dreams that now lay scattered, all dirty, all destroyed. They were in our past: little pieces of our love, a love that existed long before you decided to step on it, to spit on every piece of it. Now, in our present time, that's a thing you do every night. Every single night.

She gets up from the chair and begins to walk through the house. As she keeps talking, she carefully looks to every detail in each room she enters.

It's hard for me to handle this, to see them scattered around the house, each one of them decorating the entire place. There are little pieces smashed into the floor of every room in the house. In every corner there's one. If you could focus very, very carefully, maybe you'll see a bunch of them floating in the air, quietly waiting for you to thrown them down. There are some pieces hanging near the window that maybe are trying to look outside. Some of them are in the bathroom tub, and there's one just sitting inside your cup of coffee, waiting for you to swallow it at night.

I don't sleep at all. There are so many pieces, thousands and thousands of tiny particles laying on our bed; sleeping. I wish I could see them but I can't, and that's because their size is so microscopic; but, instead, I hear them all, and I can hear them very, very well. Believe me! Every night they wake me up with an endless moan, a moan impossible to ignore. I can't even close my eyes. They keep snoring all night. All night through.

I don't sleep anymore, and that's why. You, instead, fall asleep in every corner, in every place of this damned house. I'm tired of it. I really am.

If only I could wake up from this nightmare I'm living in, this nightmare you have created for me. If only you could wake up, too, and show me that you still love me, that you care, that is only a bad dream we can wake up from. If only you'll see that I'm standing right here, next to you, waiting for you, with my arms stretched out to hold you back, to tell you that everything is going to be like it was before. I'm sure that this can work out if we only give it a try, if we give it a real try, another one.

She was talking directly to her husband who now is seated in a chair in the living room drinking his usual cup of coffee. He's ignoring her like he always does. Now she turns her back to him and goes to sit in the chair she was seated in at the beginning of her dialog. She keeps on talking

Maybe we could take a time off and start collecting every single piece, every little piece scattered. And maybe someday, somehow, we could construct our love back; and, hopefully, someday we could lay down together in our bed and make love like the first time,then fall asleep without ever waking up from the beautiful dream we built together.

She slowly began to turn her head toward her husband while she keeps on talking

If only we could give it a try -- -

As she speaks she sees he has fallen asleep again. The coffee in his cup tilts over and the contents spill out. Just like it appears to be happening to the wife. She feels as if every bit of the relationship is spilling out and making a stain. With tears in her eyes she slowly approaches the sofa. She looks at the large stain of coffe that now lays on the floor, and with painful sobs she says

It's over now. That little piece, that a while ago was sitting inside of your coffee cup is now drowning, just beside all the other pieces of my heart.

Silence...