The MacCutcheon went down easily. I swallowed a delicious loss and as I listened to Desmond's story about Mrs. Hasking, I felt a deep, bloodcurdling void. But then I remembered the gray sky, the Island, and my baby in the water.
I'd give anything, I'd kill, I'd die, I'd fight to see the bluest sky, and I'd let it all go. I don't mind the rain, I don't mind the sins that we all pay for... I'd do what it takes. I want to see him swim. I lived my life for him, and he lives like he doesn't know I exist. But the same day makes both our skies grey.
We fight on the same island, we fight the same fight, but somehow, we live under different skies. I wonder why that might be, I wonder why his time, space, and physics don't exist in my universe. Perhaps it's because he doesn't know the water the way I do, he can't give like me. He's a narcissist.
He's lost, and can't be found.
1 comment:
nice banner. here's a strange quote for you:
"why are you reading a book in a bar? that's like arm wrestling on the moon."
-JA
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