It was as if sometimes the thoughts he thought weren’t really his at all. Complicated thoughts and daydreams, fancies and phantasms. His mind made up stories for him – whether he wanted it to or not – but stories so detailed they were like memories. The memories of other people. People who weren’t here any more. As if his head was an echo-chamber for minds which had … gone somewhere else?
Sounds more like a curse than a blessing.
Deborah Mitton and 2 other people liked this
