At What Age Did You Lose Your Compassion?

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Our entire relationship revolves around loss. Craving you, I lost my mind. Touching you, I lost my senses. Fucking you, I lost my breath. In yours eyes tonight, I lost myself. Now I’m just terrified that you’re going to lose interest… Tell me I’m not losing you.

-From the play “Mood Lighting” by Andrew Schofield
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Every mix tape tells a story. Put them together, and they add up to the story of life.

-Rob Sheffield, Love is a Mix Tape
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Society is always going to reduce you down to your good looks because they’re scared of you. They don’t think you can be beautiful and intelligent because why the hell should you have it all? I didn’t recognize sadness until I watched you walk away hand in hand with a guy whose only intention was to fuck you eighteen different ways across a lonely mattress. I’ve seen kids with nothing on Christmas Day and homeless men with heroin addictions that are happier than that sentiment. Make a choice about who you want to be, but know if you chase the guys that only care about your slim figure and your big breasts and perfect ass and the way you lick your lips, then you’re just as bad and superficial as they are. And before you ask who am I to judge? I’m the guy who sits up to 4am reading every word you’ve ever written as I fall in love with your ability to make the must mundane things sound beautiful. I’m the guy you inspire change in with a single line of poetry or the guy who questions his very being when he stands next to you because there’s no way breathing should be this hard. I’m the guy who fears nothing yet your existence makes me nervous.

-From the screenplay “Skyward” by Andrew Schofield
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I am an asshole…but so are you. It’s said that the goal of every generation is to destroy the last one. Free love became fuck love which became fuck everything, forever young became wasted youth, age of innocence became the fast times. The problem with this generation, however, is we destroyed the previous generation, then we started destroying our own. We are the self destructive. It seems that more and more we’ve come to expect less and less from one another, too often do we try to get away with saying ‘This is who I am, deal with it’ when really we should be saying ‘This is who I am, make me better.’ I knew this girl, she’s half dead now and it’s a fucking sin that she is but- wait, there’s something you need to know first for this story to make any sense, for a writer it’s difficult to have friends, it’s difficult to have casual lovers because what we really crave is inspiration. That girl who inspires. If a writer ever calls you his muse, fuck me, you really gotta know how special you are, how important you are. Sure, the cute girls inspire fantasy, the sexy girls inspire masturbation, the quirky ones inspire that smile on your face, but it’s the truly beautiful ones that inspire art. Come on girls, be beautiful. And I’m not talking about brushing your hair and putting on your lipstick and heels, you don’t need a remarkable ass or perfect breasts, that beauty is superficial, find your true beauty, be truly beautiful. That is how art is made, that’s how history is made. Of course this story is about a girl because why else do men do anything? There’s a word that’s been on my mind a lot lately, mostly because everyone has been wanting me to apologize to this world of assholes, simply for being one of them. That word was responsibility, it’s such a double edged sword, a word that we spend the first part of our life chasing and the better part of our lives running away from it. As a child all you crave is responsibility, let me go out by myself, let me have my own money, let me drive a car, let me spend the weekend kissing the girls that leave me weak. But as we grew up, we did everything we could to avoid taking responsibility, we’ll lie, hide, cheat or leave as long as it doesn’t mean admitting with our hand held high and our heads hung low that we fucked up. Excuse my behaviour I’m a fucking mess. Please. Fix me. All it takes is a single moment of genuine remorse and there’s nothing harder you’ll ever have to do, there’s no word sharper on the tongue than a sorry that you mean. Because of me a perfectly wonderful girl is in the ICU, because when I was a boy I couldn’t be a man, because as a man I couldn’t face apologizing to her, because she got wrapped up in my life and ultimately became the victim of it. We have an effect on people, and too often we selfishly forget that, we forget our very humanity is what makes us human, we try to be superior, we try to be kings, we try to be Gods and we lose our compassion. I was fifteen when I lost mine. I only hope it’s not too late to rediscover it. For all the lives I’ve interfered with, to all the hearts I’ve broken, to all the people that I disappointed and to the love I almost killed, it’s time I come out and say, take these kind words and know I’m truly sorry.

-From the stage play “These Kind Words” by Andrew Schofield
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The worst kind of bitch is the one who is too busy laughing at the humiliation of others, she fails to recognize her own misery and the worst kind of slut isn’t the girl who fucks too many guys, it’s the girl who uses her body and loose morals to fuck other people over. And above all, the worst kind of human beings are the people who value sex more than compassion, who take popularity over understanding, who would rather be beautiful than be human. You can deny this if you want but you and I both know if I gathered any given crowd of people who know you and asked them ‘Who would rather be beautiful than human?’ we could stand and watch as every head in the crowd turned to look at you.

-From the screenplay Scabiosa by Andrew Schofield
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You ever read Catcher in The Rye when Holden talks about how he dreams of kids playing in a field of rye and when they’re too busy playing and accidentally run off the edge of the cliff he wants to be the one who catches them? And that’s all he does all day for all his life is catch these kids when they fall off the cliff? My dream is to be one of those kids, I want to just keep running off that cliff and have someone there catching me every time, I’ll abuse that compassion all afternoon until the sun goes down, I’ll just keep running off that cliff and every time I’ll be caught. That’s the kind of dreamer that I am. So don’t use phrases like “I’ll always be there for you” because one day you’re just making conversation and the next you’re going to be catching me 50 fucking times a day and one sunset you’ll look around and realize that you’ve wasted your entire life picking me up and you’ll come to resent me.

-From the screenplay Scabiosa by Andrew Schofield
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It’s true, I believe, that the only real way to connect with a person is to run your fingers across their skin as you’re talking to them. Some physicists try to claim that this entire world, this life is nothing more than a mere hologram and I laugh at them because it’s obvious that they’ve never sat under a sky blanketed with stars and intertwined their fingers with some of the most beautiful, incredible people on the planet and debated art and philosophy and dreams. They can’t comprehend the notion of someone plugging your vacant emptiness with their simple existence. Those spaces between your fingers. Those words slipping from her lips. You leave a moment like that and reality is all you have to fall back on to invest your hopes and desires in. You look around at the lights and the buildings and the sky and the ocean and the line where the two meet out in the horizon, you walk on sand and roll on grass and smoke a cigarette as the wind blows through your hair and causes the trees to whisper and all around you, you see beauty, you see love, you see a sort of, magic, almost and you stand in among it all and you know, you don’t feel, you don’t fear, you know, that all of this is real. And if you still don’t believe me, if you still scare too easy, let me put it this way… you ever got a blowjob from a hologram?

-Monologue from Make Your Eyes Catch Fire (The Way They Should) by Andrew Schofield
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