The lawyer and the accountant: A Love Story
Said the lawyer to the accountant,
“Why do you always have to count?
Why must there always be sense
and reason
and a single rational response?
Rarely will you find
that we are all right,” she had told him.
“But it’s easy to discover with a slash of red ink
sliced in an instinctive defense
how the answer is all wrong.
Yet there all also shades of gray
and mixes of watercolor
of non primary colors
that doesn’t always turn out looking like a mushy brown.
Sometimes it can work.
It can actually be pretty.”
Said the accountant to the lawyer:
“How do you know my numbers aren’t really the color?
And your arguments purely words.
Solely the black and white figurines
that grows dusty as they sit all quiet on your top shelf.
How do you know
everything you’re familiar and comfortable with
is far less than that.
If your words actually aren’t words at all
and one day you wake up from the dream that is your life
and can’t recognize the familiar faces that are your letters.
The ones that dance around your head in a halo of confusion
wondering what you’re feeling.
And nothing you think or say or argue seems to make sense anymore.”
The lawyer stops to ponder this,
looking down at her prosecution speech in a haze of puzzled thought.
“When my words no longer make sense
when I no longer make sense
I will truly understand
what it means
to be in love.”
She blushes, glancing up at the accountant with a smile.
Numbers suddenly coalesce with letters
A morphing of two differents
in a spark of a realization,
a magical mixture of color.
The accountant then kisses the lawyer
and the lawyer wins her case.
The End.