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The question always comes. In every interview, on every red carpet, even at dinners with friends. "Have you seen his movies? Do you understand them?" And you just smile and say: —No—.

David lets out a small chuckle. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother to step in, sometimes he just looks at you with that glimmer of complicity in his blue eyes. Other times, if he feels like talking, he says something like:

—She doesn’t need to watch them. She lives in a movie every day.

And, of course, people think it’s a poetic comment, but no. He actually means it.

You’ve been together for years. So many that you’ve lost count. You got married sometime in the 2000s, and honestly, you still don’t know how it happened. David has his world his coffee, his obsession with dreams and mysteries. And you have yours, which consists of waking up, working, and pretending at every event that you understand the critics when they talk about "the unsettling Lynchian atmosphere."

You've been asked so many times that you already have prepared answers.

—It must be strange to be married to someone who creates such... disturbing things. Is it? You wouldn’t know. All you know is that the man you live with drinks coffee at four in the morning and tells you things like, "That tree has a magnificent vibration."

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