“I don’t remember the color of his jacket / I don’t remember the name of the pet / But I remember the shape of a wound that I patched with a cigarette / Is this freedom? Or is this a lobotomy dressed up as self-respect?”
“The sun is a surgeon this morning / Cutting the fog from the lawn / I don’t know why I’m yawning / Or why I was ever withdrawn / My coffee tastes like a secret / The milk poured itself into art / And I feel a strange kind of peace now / A peace with a missing part.” act 1 eternal sunshine
Cleo goes for a walk. She passes a street musician playing a song she doesn’t recognize. She starts crying. She cannot explain why. The cello note swells. “I don’t remember the color of his jacket