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I’d somehow lost the cornerstone of humanity: the ability to pretend, to counterfeit the basics of social interaction, to smile when you didn’t feel like smiling, to seem like you cared about other people when you lacked the capacity to care about yourself.
He kissed me, and it tasted sweet, like his laughing.
Perhaps I should have told him: don’t trust me with anything precious. But I wanted what he had given me too much to be anything other than selfish.
He shone so brightly and I was burning.
“You’re beautiful.” I meant it. I meant it so utterly I was choking on the beauty of him. I looked at him, as though it could be like touching, as though eyes could be pilgrims.
But if I didn’t write, then I would literally do, and be, nothing. A complete waste of a life.
I thought of Darian. Even here, where everything was bright and brash and fake, he glittered like something real.
“All my smiles, you can have all my smiles, whenever I can find them.”
Helpless, at my own instigation, I could not remember ever feeling quite so safe, quite so real, my body neither a prison nor an escape, and my mind, my shattered, self-destroying mind, temporarily quiescent.
