Studies over the years have shown that human beings remember things best if they're in sequences of three or four or seven: the old earth-style phone numbers, for instance, or famous tag lines like I'll be back or we'll always have Paris or you talkin' to me? or Bond, James Bond. Then there are the more complex sets of words like I love you and I hate you and what are you doing? that can make peoples' hearts race and their throats dry and their eyes widen.
Ever since he got to this place for the last time, he's been looking at himself as different. Honestly, that started before he got here: years before, actually. But he's been assuming dead, or at least altered. And while it's true that he's different -- all the things he's noticed still hold: everything is far more vibrant; his pulse is weak; he doesn't eat very much; he sleeps a lot more than he used to; things taste different; he feels different -- there are some things that haven't changed at all.
Faye's simple little I could stay reminds him of that acutely right now. For the first time in ages he can feel this little flutter of something in his chest. He may have no fear of death, but he's so scared of messing things up with her.
Reaching for her hand, he sits her back down on the chair, so many thoughts wanting out all at once that they're like a blur. One of the least expected things rises to the top of the heap and spills out.
"So you remember we said we'd leave together when we go, right? Even though there are no guarantees what will happen?"
Right now, he craves something besides touch: he craves order. He wants to organize things, put them in line.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-07-02 06:09 pm (UTC)Ever since he got to this place for the last time, he's been looking at himself as different. Honestly, that started before he got here: years before, actually. But he's been assuming dead, or at least altered. And while it's true that he's different -- all the things he's noticed still hold: everything is far more vibrant; his pulse is weak; he doesn't eat very much; he sleeps a lot more than he used to; things taste different; he feels different -- there are some things that haven't changed at all.
Faye's simple little I could stay reminds him of that acutely right now. For the first time in ages he can feel this little flutter of something in his chest. He may have no fear of death, but he's so scared of messing things up with her.
Reaching for her hand, he sits her back down on the chair, so many thoughts wanting out all at once that they're like a blur. One of the least expected things rises to the top of the heap and spills out.
"So you remember we said we'd leave together when we go, right? Even though there are no guarantees what will happen?"
Right now, he craves something besides touch: he craves order. He wants to organize things, put them in line.
Just in case.