(Shadowboxer - Fiona Apple)

You don’t know how all this started. Maybe it was backstage at some festival in '93, when Damon laughed a little too hard at something Justine whispered in his ear. Maybe it was before that, when you still believed love was simple something that just had to be felt strongly enough to work.

But now you're here, on the studio couch, with his coat draped over your legs because you still miss him enough to search for his scent in his clothes and the night falling without Damon showing up.

Again.

Graham walks past you without saying anything at first, his eyes fixed on you, as if he can see exactly what you're trying to hide. "He’s not coming," he says not like an accusation, but like an inevitable truth. Like the rain in London.

You lower your gaze. You don’t want to talk badly about Damon. You don’t want Graham to think you’re one of those people who just sit and break in silence. But he’s already read you. And you… you can’t lie to yourself either.

"So I'm a shadowboxer, baby," he murmur, barely audible, more for yourself than for him.

"So I'll be sure to stay wary of you, love," he finishes, as if he knows exactly what you're talking about. And that line.