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They’d crash together, and maybe it would be weird and maybe it would be messy, but they’d sort through it all, the good and the bad. But that wasn’t possible. Because the bad was so bad, it made the good seem impossible, as if it had never been present in the first place. The good was a guttering candle against the cold wind of a deep dark moonless winter night.
The ride was quiet for a while, though the silence among them was loud.
(But that, he supposed, was what it meant to be human. To exist in constant opposition to yourself, you as your very best friend at the exact same time you were your own worst enemy. Oh, how stupid it was to be a person.)
