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“Hypothetically speaking, if—and I’m not saying I do—but if I was to like you, what would you want to do about it?” “I would probably want to hold your hand.” “Probably?” “Hypothetically, yes. I would definitely hypothetically want to hold your hand.” “Well then, I would probably hypothetically hold yours back.”
Me: “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. That’s the best I can do.” I look at my dad. “That’s the best any of us can do.”
Jack saunters past like I’m invisible. And maybe I am. Like everyone else in his life. Just one more person he can’t see.
I may lose more weight. I may not. But why should what I weigh affect other people? I mean, unless I’m sitting on them, who cares?
Life is too short to judge others. It is not our job to tell someone what they feel or who they are. Why not spend some time on yourself instead?
“It’s not moving on, Libbs. It’s moving differently. That’s all it is. Different life. Different world. Different rules. We don’t ever leave that old world behind. We just create a new one.”
Shit. This prosopagnosia is one trippy mo-fo. But hey man, we’ve all got something. We’re all weird and damaged in our own way. You’re not the only one.
