Disclaimer: I don't own Casablanca, and have never pretended to have anything to do with the makers of it. The characters, the situation, the movie, all theirs. Get over it already.
The black and white lines, the choices, the outcomes, sting like bees. They wrap around you take your life, a cobra in Casablanca. The gin helps, but only when there is nothing better.. No noise. No existence (my life ended along time ago) without the borders beyond the black and white world. No customers
And they say I've never been seen drinking with a customer. I'm famous for it. Well, until you came back.
All of Casablanca, all the world really, I'd like to believe it black and white. It is full of Cartesian Planes and bottles of whiskey when the moon is falling. It is full of preconceived situations that I have already been through. At least my world.
You know, I've had over 100 customers in one night. Those are the nights I exist for. No thoughts, you see. Just "Do you have a problem, Miss?" "Sam, I think you should play that song." "What the heck are you doing?" "Well, what did she order Sasha?"
That is, until you stepped in and introduced me to grey again. Colors other than black and white. Other than myself and the world in a kind of war.
You were always a grey spot, darling, and you know it.
You taught me that maybe the world didn't just exist for me. You opened up my heart to colors besides deep veined black and white. You brought me out of the rigid precipice of solidarity.
I like big words. Especially when I'm drunk.
I like to think of Paris, even though the magic is lost. Of the softenedness of my tubular thoughts. Of the mild colors. Of your cheek's soft skin against my fingertips. Of laughter in the rain. Of hope in a dead man's time. Especially when I'm drunk.
Or maybe only when I'm drunk.
Because, you see, the other colors don't exist in this world without you.
That is why Paris is lost. The Rick of today, he can't see into the color, he is lost in it, doesn't fit in with it, can't understand it, doesn't want to understand it. Plain doesn't want to feel. The alcohol helps, gives a momentary trip into the color. It knocks down the precipices set up by black and white walls.
That's why I drink. To look back.
You were my sun. I don't mean that in endearing Louis XIV–ish sense, but because colors don't exist without light. Whatever color doesn't bounce back from being in light is the color we see. Without the light, there are no colors. Ever wonder why those in darkness only see black?
You were the one who taught me to see the colors.
They say love is for springtime, they say it is chocolate and champagne, bubble baths and sweet nothings. I say, it is something much more necessary than that, something much more important. Something so bred into us, that only people like me truly know how to miss it.
It is the ability to see beauty. To see color.
To see out of the black and white.
O&O&O&
Where this sprang from I have no idea. Just, uh, review, and we can all go back to wondering.
Have a nice day!!
marzoog