…What is you?
You, the person you sit with when you are by yourself without distraction, forced to reflect upon your life. You, the lifelong daydreamer indulging in overly extended periods of disappearance, a sacrifice paid in one’s own life in order to widen one’s reach to its widest extent. You, always trawling, half grillwork, while you sit at the bottom of your cave awaiting the perfect moment to ambush. Time was not spent developing you. Periods where the mind was not hopelessly tangled in the pursuit of the most syrupy of plots was time wasted. You could not develop unless your mind was in overdrive.
What are you?
…I have an answer for that question. But I’m not sure if you’re yet ready for it.
Sometimes she would sit there and admit that she knew something was wrong. That the way her glance slid from her hand as it jounced in the ear shaped space of the mug handle bothered her. But never for very long. If she just raised her hand her carefully assembled thoughts could puffed away.