[Or if he wants to, exactly. He does, but he doesn't. It's complicated, and he doesn't care to think about it too much. This is one of those moments where experience and good judgment mean nothing to him; he has no experience, nothing to base a good judgment on. This is why he relies on instinct so much: so much of life is a mystery to him, despite all the power at his fingertips.]
[He touches his fingertips to his chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath his ribs. Then he steps out into empty air, closing his eyes to risk.]
I don't do well on my own. I used to. In a way I was a lot stronger then. I don't think I could explain in words the difference between then and now. I felt like something else: bigger, better, broader, alien. Untouchable.
And then I learned that it was possible to care so much about someone it hurts your whole body and your whole mind and parts of you that don't even exist on any plane when you lose them. I can't live without people anymore. So I'm weaker, but stronger. And at the same time, I don't know how to explain it in a way that makes sense to normal people who have normal feelings. Normal people with normal feelings have always understood that caring about people is important. Normal people know how to lose.
Where I come from, in my city by the sea, there are no normal people. I need my abnormal people by my side, or I don't work. Like a clock that only measures seconds. I tick and tock along, but I don't keep time. And then I break.
no subject
[Or if he wants to, exactly. He does, but he doesn't. It's complicated, and he doesn't care to think about it too much. This is one of those moments where experience and good judgment mean nothing to him; he has no experience, nothing to base a good judgment on. This is why he relies on instinct so much: so much of life is a mystery to him, despite all the power at his fingertips.]
[He touches his fingertips to his chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath his ribs. Then he steps out into empty air, closing his eyes to risk.]
I don't do well on my own. I used to. In a way I was a lot stronger then. I don't think I could explain in words the difference between then and now. I felt like something else: bigger, better, broader, alien. Untouchable.
And then I learned that it was possible to care so much about someone it hurts your whole body and your whole mind and parts of you that don't even exist on any plane when you lose them. I can't live without people anymore. So I'm weaker, but stronger. And at the same time, I don't know how to explain it in a way that makes sense to normal people who have normal feelings. Normal people with normal feelings have always understood that caring about people is important. Normal people know how to lose.
Where I come from, in my city by the sea, there are no normal people. I need my abnormal people by my side, or I don't work. Like a clock that only measures seconds. I tick and tock along, but I don't keep time. And then I break.