All language subtitles for Poison (2024)_track3_[eng]

Coffee!

There you go. Thank you, bye-bye.

Thanks.

Come here, Lil.

Hi, this is Edith...

I won't be in today.

I'm... I'm not very well...

I'm sorry. It's nothing serious,
just a bit of a cold...

So... I'll be back on Monday.

Edie?

Ah, you're already here?

- You're leaving?
- No.

- I mean, I've just arrived.
- Right.

Yeah. I...

Still on your bike then.

Yeah.

And you?

No.
Not on my bike, no.

No, of course not.

Your flowers.

Flowers.

Oh. Yeah.

I didn't know if you'd come or not.

Well, I was going to call you...

to tell you I was coming, but...
yeah, not much of a caller.

I know.

So, have you already been to his grave?

Yeah.

It looks lovely.

I do my best.

Yeah.

I always worried it was gonna look like
a building site or something.

No.

No, fortunately not.

So we just have to wait here then?

Yes, I think so, yeah.

You haven't changed a bit.

Don't look too closely then.

Looks just the same
as it did ten years ago. Yeah.

The tree's gone.

- By his grave, that's gone.
- Yeah.

It had some disease or something.

Right. Yeah.

I thought it might have been the toxins.

No. It has nothing to do with that.

Right.

How many graves are they
gonna have to move then?

Don't know really.

Expect we'll find out soon enough.

- Do you want something?
What?

Like coffee? Tea? Water?

Oh, no, no, no. No thanks, no.

Okay, thank you.

I'm finding this quite hard.

Well, let's hear
what they have to say then.

No, I...

No, I mean, being here,
waiting together like this.

And that I haven't seen you for years.

I don't know how you are.

You haven't seen me for years.
You don't know how I am.

And that I don't know what to say...

And that I'm bursting for a pee.

Well... you should probably go then.

To pee, I mean.

Yeah.

It's not bad actually.

Do you know what I think is strange?

That things only happen when it
doesn't matter to you anymore.

When you don't really need it anymore.

You talking about me?

So...

it doesn't matter to you
whether I'm here or not?

I'm not saying that.

Well, it sounds like you're saying that.

But that's not what I mean.

I mean it in a positive way.

That...

that you find out
you can do without something,

that you're not dependent anymore.

That's something positive, isn't it?

Yeah. But are you happy
that I'm here or not?

- Yeah, I'm very happy that you're here.
- Okay.

That we're here together. Stranded.

In a manner of speaking.

Do you feel stranded?

Yeah.

Like some...

What was that?

- Eeh...
- What happened?

Is he okay?

Oh...

Come here.

- Is he alright?
- I don't know...

Thirty-first of December 2012...

That's a long time ago, isn't it?

Thirty-first of December 2012.

At ten past seven.

Ten past seven?

The door closed.

I looked at the clock. Ten past seven.

I've never forgotten it.

So, what did you
actually do that evening?

Or can't you remember?

Yeah.

Of course I can. Yeah.

I drove to Mum's beach house,

uh, uh, just before midnight,

and I stopped at a petrol station,

and I was gonna call you,
but then I thought...

I thought, "You fucking idiot."

I mean, who leaves on a day like that

and then calls at midnight? So...

So I didn't call.

No.

You know what I've noticed?

Is how often you do things
you don't actually wanna do.

Are you talking about that evening?

No, no. I mean...

I mean, yes, probably.

- You don't have to apologize.
- I'm not.

It's more of a... insight,

long after the event.

I mean, we... we all end up

in the same place in the end.

I mean, we do things
that we'd rather not do,

or don't do things that we'd rather do.

Yeah.

Funny, right?

- Yeah.
- It makes you laugh.

I mean, hearing that from you,

I think that's funny.
It makes you laugh.

Yeah. It's hysterical.

It is funny, isn't it?

- Are you all touchy now?
- No.

You're not going to
get all touchy, are you?

What are you doing?

I need a breather.

But they could come any moment.

You wanna get that?

No.

Not important?

Don't you think it's bizarre...

after all these years,
seeing each other here again?

I do. I think it's bizarre.

A bizarre twist of fate. Don't you?

Haven't really thought about it.

You're seeing me for
the first time in ten years,

here, in this place,

and you haven't really thought about it?

Unbelievable.

Is there anything
you have thought about?

What do you mean?

About the stuff
in that letter, for instance?

Let's just see what they have to say.
You know, what the options are.

- The cost, of course.
- The cost?

Yeah, the cost.

We're talking about Jacob

and you're talking about money?

I'm... I'm sorry.
I didn't mean it that way.

You know I didn't mean it that way.
Come on. You know

that's ridiculous to think
I meant it that way.

Edie?

Edie?

I'm starving.

Here.

You used to be addicted to that stuff.

I'm trying to cut down.

Did you know I got addicted
to sleeping pills?

My doctor said
they wouldn't do any harm.

That it was normal, for a woman
in my circumstances.

After all I've been through. Very normal.

That's reassuring, isn't it?

I mean, that it won't get
out of hand, the addiction.

No such luck.

Do you know the worst thing
about addictions?

That they're so hard to break,
I would imagine.

That they're so easy to develop.

It happens before you know it.

You start off with a half
and then another one.

And then a whole one.

But not every night.

Only if it's really necessary of course.

And it is really necessary.

So many things are
increasingly really necessary.

Things that come in small bottles.

Or in handy blister strips.

And before you know it,
you're taking one every night.

For a long time, I hoped that
I could put things behind me.

Start again.

Rubbish, of course.

It's never the same again,
whatever you try.

New house. New friends. New job.

Is that what you want?

Wouldn't you?

Erase it all and start again?

Yeah, but I mean,
where would you start, you know?

- Where?
- I mean, at...

at what point would you start?

You know, choose to erase,
and then, how would you know

what comes after would be any better?

That's an idiotic question.

I'm sorry.

I miss him.

I miss him as much as then.
Is that crazy?

And you? Do you miss him?

I think about him every day,

you know, if that's what you mean.

I mean, do you still miss him?

I don't really know
what I'm supposed to miss.

So, you don't miss him?

I'm resigned to it.

That he's not here anymore?

No, that I miss him every day.

That... that I think about him every day.

Suffering's addictive, don't you think?

I mean, there should be rehabs for that

with compulsory fucking admission.

Sounds a bit bonkers, right?

It sounds cold.

Detached.

As if it doesn't concern you.

Yeah, it sounds like
one of those opinions

people have when it's not about them.

One of those casual opinions.

The idea that you're
in control of your own life.

In control of your own suffering too.

Yeah, but it's true, though.

Don't you think... I mean that...

to a certain extent...

No, I-I-I don't think it is. No.

Do you think it makes any difference

what you do, or don't do?

That you're rewarded or punished?

"What do I need to learn from this?"

It makes me puke, that question.

"What do I need to learn from this?"
Nothing.

That life is shit. Sometimes.

For some people, complete shit.

For completely inexplicable reasons.

Tell me, why haven't you been
in touch for over ten years?

Or would you rather explain why
you left in the first place?

You know why I left.

A bit of explanation wouldn't go amiss.

Okay. Alright, so if I explain, um...

or... or if I say I'm sorry,
would it make any difference?

Sometimes it's nice to know
that you were right from the beginning.

Okay, I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

There you go,
how's that working for you?

Wow! You really have thought
about this, haven't you?

Yeah.

I know, I know...

Well, soon, I think.

Yeah, I'll call you back.

Okay... okay. Bye.

Cold, huh?

Yeah.

I'm sorry, I... I was a bit...

No, no, no, no.

Oh, it looks like it's going to rain.

Horrible.

Yeah.

You used to like the rain.

Did anyone come when I was gone?

No.

You know what?

What are you doing?

I'm gonna give them a call.

Why?

Why not?

But we can wait a bit longer, can't we?

Oh. It's been an hour already. Yeah.

I didn't know you were in a rush.

That's not the point, is it?

You have reached Vianden Cemetery.

Unfortunately, we're
not able to take your call

at the present time.

You can contact us
Monday through Friday...

I think it's strange.

Don't you?

I mean, I think it's strange.

That all the... the ground
around the graves,

it hasn't been dug up.

And that there's no sign up
telling people,

you know, what's happening.
I think that's weird.

I mean, he's been lying there
in that shit for ten years.

- Can you imagine that?
- Don't do that.

Don't... don't think about it like that.

Yeah. You're right.

I mean, he's not actually
lying there, is he?

What?

I mean, he's not really lying there.

If he's not really lying there,
then who is?

Well, you know what I mean.

You haven't changed a bit, have you.

In all these years, not a bit.

I'm just trying to look at it
a different way, that's all.

- Bullshit.
- All right.

You're trying not to look at it,
just like always.

- Here it comes.
- Yeah.

So just dismiss it as usual.

- So, what do you want me to do?
- What do you want me to do?

You want me to fire back?
Is that what you want?

No. Then I'd have to adjust
my image of you too much.

Did something happen?

When I was gone,
did something happen?

Loads of stuff happened
while you were gone.

No, I mean, just now,
while I was gone just now.

Oh, that's what you mean?

- Just now?
- Yes. Yes.

No, nothing happened just now.

On second thoughts, maybe I'm not
so happy that you are here.

- Okay, good.
- Well, then maybe I should go.

Yeah. You're good at that.

- What do you...
- what do you want from me?

Do you want me to stay?
You want me to stay?

If you want me to stay, just say it.

Do you want me to stay?

All right.

- Coward.
- Oh, no, no, no, no.

You don't get to do that.

I'm sorry.

- I'm sorry.
- I'm not having that.

- I'm... I said I'm sorry.
- I don't...

I don't want that.
You don't get to do that.

- I don't want that.
- Hey, I'm sorry.

- I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
- Okay.

- Whoa, whoa, whoa.
- Hey, I'm sorry.

- I'm sorry.
- What do you want?

- What do you...
- What do I want?

What do you want?

Oh... what do I want?

Stop!

Oh my God, you're so skinny.

- You know that... No.
- Really?

- You lost so much weight.
- Are you not eating?

- Huh?
- Okay. Stop.

A man on his own, not good
at looking after himself.

You should eat some more.
Not drink too much.

Doesn't anyone ever tell you that?

- Yeah, yeah, yeah... they do.
- Yeah. Your mum, I expect.

No, my wife.

My wife. Yeah.

Have you known her for long?

About two years.

And all that time,
your mum's never said a word to me.

Probably didn't want to
hurt you. You know?

Nice.

Considerate.

I hate happiness.

Happy people.

They look so...

happy.

What do you see when you look at me?

You're laughing. That's funny.
Make you feel better?

Oh please, we're not going in for
deep psychological analysis, are we?

I only asked what you see
when you look at me.

What do you want me to see?

What do you see?

I only see flaws.

I see what isn't there but should be.

I see a history. A past. A failed past.

Yeah, mainly that.
A failed past, a failed story.

That's what you see?

Yeah, but that's true, isn't it?

We are a failed story.

I'm sorry, I can't see it any other way.

Did you know I was writing a book?

A book?

Mm-hmm.

You're writing a book?

- Yeah.
- What kind of book?

Just a book.

A journalistic book, or...?

- No.
- So, it's fiction?

Well...

No. Well, partly, yeah, but. Yeah.

I didn't know you had
aspirations on that front.

Do you want to know what it's about?

Okay. So, it's about a man.

I mean, you could say
that the man is me, but...

or partly me, or, you know, whatever, but,

it's about a man, and it's about a boy.

I don't wanna know.

And one morning,
the man wakes up to discover

that he is not...

I said, I don't wanna know!

Well, I just wanna
tell my story the way I see it.

Where did you get the idea
of writing a book

about something so private?

Eh... the world's full of it.

Oh my God. So it's going to be
world literature now, is it?

Okay, you know, I can understand

you being cynical about it.

- I'm not cynical about it.
- I think it's pathetic.

Showcasing your grief,
that's pathetic, isn't it?

I just wanna give it
its rightful place, that's all.

Its rightful place?

Why... why do we have to
give everything in life

a rightful place?

So, you close the book
and you can put it on the shelf.

My life isn't a book
you can put away on a shelf.

When I'm dead, maybe.

Maybe then, yes.

So, you'd rather just be
your grief, would you?

Yeah, well, maybe.

Rather that than selling it to someone

who pays 15 euros for it. If you're lucky.

That's from his bike, right?

Do you wanna know for your book?

A nice little anecdote about your mad ex?

I've got a few more, you know.
With juicy details.

Always good for book sales.

Yeah, I didn't... I didn't
expect you to be happy about it.

Good.

Yeah.

But, in some way...

I'm writing it for you too.

Or... us, anyway.

Okay, tell me.

What is this "us," then?

What are we, the two of us
together, in your eyes?

We are...

a man and a woman
who have lost a child.

Or perhaps I should say,
who first lost a child,

then each other.

Or who... who lost a child,

and then themselves...
and then each other.

Yeah, that's a very...

very clear and concise
summary of us, yeah.

But if you can only feel grief
when you think of a person,

when you think of somebody that
you've loved so incredibly... much.

Then, if... if nothing comes along

to take the place of that grief...

aren't you doing something
incredibly wrong?

I'm full of grief. I have the right to be.

I've lost a child. We lost a child.

Then you're entitled to grief.

And what about if you had another child?

I mean, would that child
have to put up with

grieving parents for
all his life long, you know,

just because they feel
that they are entitled to it?

I don't have another child.

Yeah, but what if you did?

Yeah.

Do you remember when someone
advised us to have a new one?

Have a new one.

Like they were talking about
getting a new cat!

Well, maybe we should have.

Yeah. I mean, does it get any better
if you don't go on? No.

Does it get any better if you do go on?

It's worth a try, right?

You're a father.

You're the father of
another child, aren't you?

What difference does it make?

Are you the father of another child?

What difference does it make?

- Is it a boy or a girl?
- I don't have another child.

Not yet.

Val's expecting.

- Val?
- Yeah.

- That's her name. Valérie. Val.
- Her name is Valérie?

- Yeah.
- And Valérie is pregnant?

Yeah.

- By you?
- Yeah.

How old is she?

- What...
- what does that matter?

Young, of course.

Young, optimistic...

happy.

I expect your mum is mad about her.

God, you are so fucking bitter.

Yeah, why would that be?

You... you think you're
the only one with pain, right.

The only one with pain. Or grief.

Everything was always
your story, your drama,

your suffering, your loss.

As if I had nothing to do with it.

- Nothing at all.
- You didn't see him being run over.

You weren't even there
when it happened!

No, I didn't see it happen.

No, I wasn't there when it happened.

No, I was in the office
typing up some shit

about fuck-knows-what.

No, I didn't see it happen.

But I felt it!

I feel it!

I feel it, right here!

You know, when I first got to Holland,

I went running a lot.

To ease the pain, you know,
the terrible pain that you feel,

in your stomach, in your chest.

I ran for miles.

And I had no idea
where I was going, and...

put one foot in front of the other...

But fortunately,

at the end of the journey,

a young woman was waiting for you.

And she opened her arms,

and she took you to her beautiful house.

And yes,

then you knew you'd come home.

And after years and years of running,

you were finally where you needed to be.

At home, with Valérie...

And before you knew it,

your beautiful little happy wife

was expecting a baby.

But then suddenly, you thought: hang on,

I used to have a son
somewhere, long ago,

that was tragically run over by a driver

tearing along a street
at 80 kilometers an hour.

Yeah, it was sad,

but, you know, luckily life goes on.

And inside that gray brain,

a brilliant idea took form:

I know, I'll write a book about it.

Yeah!

A book about me and my son
and how difficult it all was,

even though you had to dig
really deep into your memory

because you could hardly remember

how it had all actually happened.

But perhaps I, your pathetic ex-wife,

can help you a bit with the details,

because as far as I'm concerned,

it's never ended, you know, never.

Every moment...

Every detail...

Everything.

Everything!

Everything is recorded in this head,

perfectly preserved.

No.

No.

Sorry.

You're angry with me for leaving.

- I get that.
- Yeah.

You deserted me. It's a fact.

Yeah, I left on New Year's Eve
at ten past seven

with two suitcases. Yeah.

It's a fact.

Yeah.

Let's just run through
all those facts again, shall we?

Do you remember what I was wearing?

What sort of weather it was?

A red sweatshirt.

Ah, memory for detail.

I'd almost say, a real writer's memory.

You want me to apologize again?

- Do you want to?
- I'm sorry.

Well, that's noble. You're sorry.

Are you sorry?

What have I got to be sorry about?

You didn't do anything.

That's right, I didn't do anything.

No. That's right, yeah,
you didn't do anything. I...

What... what do you mean?

I left on New Year's Eve,

ten past seven, two suitcases
in my hand, you didn't...

you didn't come after me,
you didn't try and stop me...

Bravo! You didn't do anything!

It's unbelievable the way
you twist things around.

- Still.
- I think it's unbelievable

the way that you wallow in self-pity.

You have no idea
what you're talking about.

Not a word from you...

in ten years.

And then this.

- Then what?
- Then...

This.

You know, I'd hoped
that things had changed.

I'd hoped that you'd changed.

And you?

I've changed.

I've changed a lot.

Guess so have I.

In some ways.

I've come to terms
with what happened to me.

Sorry, to us.

I'm not saying that I accept it
or that I understand it,

but I've come to terms with
the fact that this is my life.

I do things, you know?

I... I've got friends.

I have a job.

I go to the cinema.

I take my students to the museum.

It's all very normal.

Like a normal life, I mean.

I...

I get up.

I have breakfast.

I read the paper.

I can talk about things
that are happening in the world.

I take part.

I do the best I can. I...

I take part.

And you just want to go on like this

for whatever time you have left?

I don't understand you.

Why do you have to understand me?

Because we have a past together,

we have a-a-a history, you know,
that can never be forgotten,

no matter how hard we try,

and I want to draw a line under that.

I want to draw a line under that together.

Draw a line under it?

Yeah.

You're really good at
metaphors, aren't you?

Yeah, no, I mean it.

Draw a line under it.

I can really tell you're
a writer nowadays.

It's crazy really.

I thought that being a writer
was something you...

you had in you your whole life,
something you couldn't avoid.

I didn't know that you could
discover you were a writer

in your 50s.

It's good to know, though,
that it's all still possible.

That even I...

I could still become something,
that I could still discover it.

What are you doing?

I'm going.

Maybe you could think of
something else for a change.

You know, when I was coming here,

when I was driving here,
I was thinking about...

you, you know,

I was thinking about
when we met 20 years ago.

And I remembered

that you had this little
dimple in your cheek...

right here when you smiled.

And I wanted... I wanted to tell you

that I-I-I-I remembered that...

I-I wanted to tell you
that I loved the memory of that,

of you smiling.

Yeah. There it is.

Phew!

Couldn't start the car, so...

I mean, the car would start,
but I couldn't start it.

You know?

So, I bumped into the caretaker
and I showed him the letter

and he told me, yeah.

Yeah, they were, uh,
they were moving a few graves,

but that they were old ones,
from the early 1900s,

and that they, uh, yeah.

There was a piece
in the local newspaper about it.

Gave him sleepless nights, he said.

You hate me, don't you?

No.

If you don't hate me, then what?

You want me to say that I love you,

that I still love you,
so that then you can say:

I don't know.

Is that what I'm like?

Yeah.

I don't want to be like that.

Yes!

You wanna go
somewhere else?

Mm-mm.

- Are you sure?
- Mm.

I could drive you, you know.

Wanna go to your place?

No, not my place.

What do you wanna do?

I just want to stay here.

All right.

I want you to say that everything

will be alright in the end.

Everything will be alright in the end.

Yeah.

On my deathbed probably.

- Is that funny?
- Yeah, it's fucking funny.

Yeah.

I sometimes feel like...

like my head is full
of all sorts of things

that I... I can't...

Can't forget, right?

That I mustn't forget.

I know.

Thanks.

You know, I can remember
arriving at the hospital,

going through the glass doors,
the sliding doors,

and the place looked like a supermarket.

There was a restaurant
right there in the foyer,

with tables and chairs in it.

And we said we'd be there,
sitting there with Jacob,

in a week's time...

eating ice cream, whatever.

- Remember?
- Mm.

Yeah.

He's in every step I take here.

He's there, everywhere.

Yeah.

Sometimes I see a man with a boy
on the back of his bike

or playing football in the park,
or swimming in the sea...

and I think:

Am I that man? Is he that boy?

You know?

Is it going to stay like this forever?

What is the point of going on?

It stopped raining.

Want to go for a walk?

- Yeah.
- All right.

Okay.

Do you remember me asking you,

"Do you think things like this
happen for a reason?"

And you looked at me
like I was fucking nuts.

And you said, "These things
don't happen for a reason,

there's no... there's
no sense to any of this.

This... these things,
they just... they're random,

they happen randomly," you know.

That was your take on it.
And... and that take,

it just kept dragging me down, you know,

till I couldn't breathe.

Yeah. I'm sorry. That's just the way I am.

Yeah. I don't believe that.

Sometimes I see people
who have been through far worse

and who have learned to live with it.

And they say they're happy.

And I can see them being happy.

Then I ask myself,
"What am I doing wrong?

What's... what's wrong with me?"

Do you understand?

Yeah.

Why did you leave? Why that evening?

I just couldn't do it.

You know? I couldn't. I couldn't...

Happy New Year. You know...

Count down the seconds till midnight...

Raise a glass, look at you, kiss you.

I just couldn't do it.

I remember the way the door
shut with a soft click.

Just like that.

As if you were off to work
or just going shopping,

as if you'd be right back.

And then the car starting up.

I counted. Thirty seconds
till the car drove off.

Thirty seconds to change your mind.

I kept on counting,

15 seconds till the sound
of the car disappeared.

I looked at the clock,
ten minutes past seven.

It's right, what you said.
I didn't do anything.

I just let you go,

with two suitcases in your hands
on New Year's Eve.

It was so hard to drive away that night.

It was so fucking hard.

I... at every corner,
I was like, "Go back, go back."

Every set of traffic lights,
"Go back. Go back."

But I couldn't, you know. I just couldn't.

I sat by the window the whole evening

with the lights out.

And I kept thinking of
the last moments with Jacob

at the hospital.

You on one side of his bed
and me on the other side.

And someone saying, "We're going
to disconnect him now."

"How long do we still have?"

"A couple of minutes.
A quarter of an hour."

And I thought to myself,
"This isn't the moment to cry."

So I... I held him tight.

For the first time in weeks,
I held him tight,

without tubes coming out of his body,

without that...

sucking sound of the respirator,

the beeping of the heart monitor.

Yeah.

Just... just him and me.

I could feel his chest rising and falling,

and his fingers in mine.

Warm blood, beating blood.

Just me and him.

The world stood still.

Somehow it was a complete moment.

Me and him.

Nine minutes.

In the end, it turned out
to be nine minutes.

So, where did you get
the idea for the letter then?

Well, there was something in the paper

about them clearing old graves
and a whole fuss about it.

Ah...

What about the ground?

- That was at the old gasworks.
- All right.

The two things were on the same page.

Ah. Okay.

I know you think I'm nuts.

Yeah. Yeah.

Did you ever get any help?

I mean, I know you
didn't want to, but did you?

I've seen all sorts of them.

Psychologists, therapists.

They all said the same thing:
Yes, it's difficult.

Yes, it will never be the same again.

Yeah.

- I want to be happy again.
- Is that too much to ask?

No, I don't think so.

I want someone to save me.

Yeah, it doesn't work like that.

Well, it's easy for you to say,
you've been saved.

You have a new wife,
and soon a new child.

Do you want to know
what actually saved me?

Yeah.

Yeah?

- Yeah.
- Like really?

But promise me you won't laugh.

- Promise me.
- I won't laugh.

- Promise me.
- I promise.

Okay.

I took up singing.

You said... It's funny.

You said you weren't gonna...

Okay, it's... it's funny though, right?
I know it's funny.

Don't tell me you've joined
a church choir.

Well, it's a choir.

It is a choir.

It is a choir.

Oh.

I love the idea of you in a choir.

That's nice of you. Okay. So...

I... we rehearse in school, right?

And... and... so one day...
this is true...

one day, I turned up early for rehearsal

and I was... I'm standing there and I'm...

I'm waiting for the others to show up.

And I heard this man singing.

And he had this beautiful voice.

It's...

one of those voices
that just kind of shakes...

shakes you, vibrates through you...

It was?it was like I was
singing it myself, you know.

It was... and suddenly I thought...

what if this is it? Right?

What if nothing better,
and nothing more beautiful...

comes along to take his place?

What if this is it?

Right? And... and I just...

Ugh. It sounds terrible to me.

No. But...

it'd be a relief though,
wouldn't it, in a way.

I mean,

not wanting anything else.

Not expecting anything else.

- That this is it, you know?
- That's...

that's absurd!

Being happy because
you have nothing left?

You have no more expectations!

But it'd be peaceful though,
don't you think?

I mean, in a way.

But not very hopeful.

- Well, what do you want?
- Hope or peace?

Both.

- You heard that man singing.
- Yeah.

And you thought to yourself,

"What if everything stays as it is now?"

- Yeah.
- What then?

Then I was just... I was...

at peace, you know.

Yeah.

I don't believe that.

Well, it doesn't matter
if you believe it or not.

I mean, it happened anyway, right?

I hate it.

You know, these sorts of stories
that just happen to some people.

Stories that aren't logical,

that you can't make happen for yourself.

The idea that you have to
see the light first...

only no one ever tells you
how to do that bit.

Do you sing much?

About once a week.

How about you?

No.

You used to sing to him.

- You know?
- Yeah, when he was a baby.

Yeah.

And in the hospital too.

I sang at the hospital?

Yeah.

Yeah...

Don't you remember?

Um... Yeah, it was on the day
that he died.

And um... I was holding you
and you were holding him

and you had your lips
pressed to his forehead

and I could see your lips moving
and you were singing to him...

and uh... yeah...

I couldn't hear what it was, but...

You don't remember?

- Are you sure I did?
- Yeah... yeah.

Yeah.

You alright?

Yeah... I... I want to get out of here.

Right now?

Yeah, now!

Immediately now?

Immediately now.

- Because of what I just said?
- No.

No. It's...

It's because of everything today,
all of it.

I just want to leave this place.
I wanna go home.

You want me to drive you?

No.

I just want to go home on my own.

Okay.

I don't want to leave you like this.

I'm so sorry, Lucas.

You have to believe me. I'm...

I'm really sorry.

I don't wanna leave you like this.

It's okay.

Is there anything I can do for you?

No. Nothing.

Huh? Nothing? Nothing at all?

Maybe hold me.