I put the juice down. "There are times I have seen you on screen, and I have laughed and at times I have lusted, and I've looked and seen a two-dimensional, fictional being, a story device. Then at times when I have seen you and I have cared, you know? Really, deeply wanted you to survive, to win, to get through the crisis, and be happy. And not just because of how good you look, or how funny you are, but because of who you are. I fucking cry at movies. I am a wimp." "You don't have to be a wimp to cry at movies," she said. "Oh yes, you do. It's the definition." She decided not to argue with that. "But you realise that when you don't want the bad guy to get me, that it's just a movie. It isn't reality." "It's art," I said. "Art is superior to reality." "But if it came down to a fistfight, who would win? Art or reality?" "I don't want to contemplate that. I am afraid of what I'll find." Need a vacation? Get great deals to amazing places on Yahoo! Travel.