Subtext

Boy: That poem you wrote - it's about me, isn't it?
Girl: (distracted): What poem? Have you seen my sunglasses?
Boy: On the side. You know, that poem, the one you wrote last week...
Girl: Oh that one. I was pretty pleased with that.
Boy: Yeah... it was cool. [pause] But you didn't answer my question.
Girl: What question? We should go now, I'm meeting the others at 2.
Boy: Ok, but the poem - did you write it about me?
Girl: What's this about? What makes you think that?
Boy: I, er, um...
Girl: We're postmoderm. You can think what you like, a poem is a pile of dust. It can mean whatever you want it to mean.
Boy: Oh, just forget it. I just thought maybe... [sighs]. Anyway, let's go.
Girl: Maybe what? You're being really weird today.
Boy: Never mind. [pause] I just thought that maybe you thought about me when you wrote it, but it doesn't really matter, it's cool.
Girl: You know I think you're great, don't you... I really respect you.
Boy: Thanks, anyway, it doesn't matter. We should go.
Girl: Yeah, come on.