(no subject)

[elinorwise]

Your memory is bad. You have enough awareness to understand this. The one thing you know for certain is there is supposed to be someone with you. You don’t know if you’re not there anymore (you never left you never left you never-- ), or if he’s angry at you.


You like writing stories, but none of them are very good. Your thoughts don’t make sense so they’re abstract nonsense. The ways you weave in plot and narrative are not typical, not what the books on the shelves tell you. Sometimes you read them in the language they’re written in, and sometimes your mind is full of piercing light. You understand the passages, all the same.


There are people, humans (?), in this world. You think about it really hard to place. California? There’s a small little store that sells mostly fruit a couple of miles away. But when you tried conversing with the patrons, you couldn’t figure out the right language. At least, you like to think that’s the problem. Why they kept telling you they couldn’t understand you. It’s perfectly logical it wasn’t a language barrier, but rather the fact there’s no language you can make your thoughts linear enough for them to comprehend. Sometimes you miss him, because he understood.

Никто не описывает это состояние глобального потрясения, глубочайшей внутренней катастрофы так мощно, как это делает sp8ce.
И это одна из вещей, которых канон недодал мне.
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