Dreamers ~ Part 7

“If you had to choose one life, one place, which would it be?”

Love glanced up from his plate of eggs and bacon, looking at her questioningly.  He did not seem to understand what she meant, and she said, “Do you remember when you mentioned the goddess who said she had been banished to this world?  To live in one world only?”

“Oh, that.”  He smiled, and began eating again.

“She said that the Immortals were forced to choose one world only to exist in,” Muse prompted.  “I was wondering, this morning, which world I would choose.”

She didn’t mention that she had put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper with distracted, tormented words on it, and wondered if they had been written by the crazy goddess.  It almost made sense, if you read it that way.

Love laughed, a little, and said promptly, “The other, of course.”

“You don’t like this one?”

He shrugged, still laughing at her with his eyes.  “It’s alright, but it’s so . . . ” he paused, unable to explain, and simply shrugged again.  “It’s just not the other.”

“I thought I might like to stay here,” Muse said, almost indifferently, but not quite as indifferent as she wanted.

“But why?”

“It’s older.  It’s bigger.  There’s so much more to it.”

“A lot of ugly, dirty more,” he agreed, dubiously.  “The wars, the pollution, the boring day-to-day of the mundane . . . .”  He seemed to have no trouble putting it into words, now.

“And what is so exciting in the other?” Muse asked.  “It is not so very different, it’s just so young.  The humans have not been there long enough to become very many, and they don’t seem nearly as interested in creating things, so there is not the technology.  We are more visible to them, but otherwise, it’s not so very different.”

“But isn’t all that a good thing?”  He leaned forward a little, almost getting egg on his shirt.  “I mean, that’s why there isn’t the pollution and war.”

“Not yet.”

“Hopefully not ever.”

Muse looked away.  She did not think he understood where she was coming from.  Love disliked strife, of course.  “I find the other place rather more boring,” she said.  “It’s peaceful and pretty enough, but there is not so much passion, as this one.  There is not near the drive to do things, not near the suffering, or the joy.  There is more inspiration in even the most mundane life here, because there is more to see, and do, and dream about.”

He was quiet for a long moment when she finished.  “You think it’s richer,” he said finally, “for all its darkness.”

“Yes.  Yes, I think I do.”

He sat back, mindful of his breakfast again.  “Then for you, perhaps, this would be the better world.  I enjoy the peace and innocence of our other home.”

“There is more to love, here.”

He smiled, unconvinced.  “There is love everywhere.  In that, both places are equal.”

“And you know your preference.”

“Yes.”

They ate quietly, then, until they were finished.  It was time to open the store, and nearly time for Muse’s first student of the day.  On their way down the stairs Love observed, off-hand, “You spend a lot of time here.  It almost seems like a waste of gas to drive back and forth every day.”

“I spend no more time here than many people do at their jobs,” said Muse.  “It’s not even twelve hours.”

“I suppose.”

They said no more about it for the rest of the day, and Muse went home at six, as usual.  She ate no dinner, but her first three paychecks had come by then, and had allowed her to buy some things for her small room.  Mostly books.  These she read until she fell asleep, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she knew the oblivion of unconsciousness, before she opened her eyes to the morning light, and woke to a new day.