He is hollow and there is a desire to be filled, but he does not know yet with what.
He has only the sense of things missing, but not want those things are. He extends his mind back, tries to grasp for something, but there is only a darkness that feels all-encompassing.
A familiarity, too – like he has known this darkness before. Maybe he has.
It’s too much, to swim in this darkness, and so he focuses instead on movement. His bruised body aches, but the ache is something real, something tangible, and so that is what he turns his mind to, not the way he is empty and strange and haunted by the sense of something missing.
He is engrossed in this and does not notice her at first, though when she cries out he is shaken from his trance. He barely has time to observe her – a flash of white, the opposite of the darkness clouding him – and then she is against him, warm, and he thinks of how dirty he is, muddy and bruised, and wonders who she could have mistaken him for.
He draws back on instinct, though heat had flared in his body when she touched him. He looks at her
(oh my love)
and wishes he was who she thinks him to be, because that would be easier, but he is some filthy stranger and she will see it, now that he has granted her distance, she will see it and maybe she will just walk away.
“I…” he says, the word trailing off because he doesn’t know what to tell her, “I’m sorry, I’m not –”
I’m not whoever you think I am, I’m not me, I’m not sure I’m not sure-
Her next words, though. You went into the river and I couldn’t find you.
“You saw me?” he asks, “go into the river?”
@[Agetta]