Listening to your stories and remembering my own was absolutely and positively heart wrenching. Perhaps I'm being dramatic, but it most definitely was not happy for me. It made me smile to see you smile, and to remember your happy memories, but the fact that you cried about them only minutes before reminded me of what came before my numbness. I am jealous of you. I envy your ability to feel these things. To remember them. I remember them, and remember them all fondly, but I have detached all emotion from them. They numb me, remind me, chill me, then move on. This is the way of things for me, and this is how I have survived. Is that so wrong? So... right? So... what could it possibly be.
I am on new grounds, and have yet to be used to them. Wandering through life with you by my side... I feel myself on the edge of a brave new world, with a tempest blowing at my back. Perhaps you are my island of the lotus eaters? No, you are too honest, too real, too so many other things not entirely a fantasy to be and island of the cursed fruit.
I cannot do what you do. I cannot look backwards at what I have written, or what has been written to me just yet. I am unable to do this because I am so afraid of what will happen to me.
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