George in “Another Fine Mess”

We meet people, and fall in love. But when we part, they leave marks for us to remember them by. Our lovers sculpt us, they define us for better or worse. Like a pin ball we slam into them and rebound in a different direction, repealed by the contact. And after the parting we might be scarred, but stronger. Or, more fragile or needie or angry or guilty, but never unchanged. Our lovers linger beside us like ghosts, haunting the corridors and deserted rooms, sometimes whispering, sometimes screaming. Invisible, but always there.