"So here we are. You and I. (Or is it 'you and me'? I can never remember.) And you ask if things might have been different. Of course things might have been different. But this is the way things are. And this is the path we have chosen."
-For use in future novel/screenplay/script/short story-
I tell people I like that feeling, you know, that aching that you feel in your chest when you've lost someone important to you. They think I'm weird and they rarely give me a chance to explain. Also, I've never bothered to explain...because I've never felt like it. But I feel like explaining now.
I like that feeling because it means that I have dared to risk something. That I have loved someone so much that losing them makes me feel like there's a huge, gaping hole in the middle of my chest. A hole so deep that my heart and my lungs feel like they're missing.
I've only felt like that once before...and although it's been years, the feeling has never really gone away. The hole has been filled up but the flesh that it has been filled up with doesn't have the right nerve endings. I don't feel anything except phantom pains.
I don't have feelings. I have memories of feelings. And I just...I don't know. I feel invincible. I feel like the worst has happened to me and that nothing worse could ever happen. I hope nothing worse happens. But I want the risk of something worse.
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