I’m notorious for saying the wrong thing on account of how often I have trouble distinguishing between what’s real and what’s imagined. And when you spend enough time in a world that’s likely just your imagination, you tend to not care as much about the anomalies that you see. When you question whether or not people are actually real, you can’t help but feel a little stoic at the news that someone has died. And it’s not that you’re a bad person, it’s just that you have trouble getting emotionally involved in the life of someone who may or may not be real.
