[rift] all the faces, all the voices blur
As the days pass, Charlotte Staples Lewis fades deeper into Dan's memory, joining Theresa Spencer in the dark and sparsely touched recesses of his mind. They say the truth hurts, and this is one truth that stings like a bitch. It's only been four months since her death and his arrival here, but he's been busy enough that he hasn't had much time to dwell on the past. Chicago is his home now, whether he likes it or not, and part of him does like it. The best way to move on from your past is to force yourself into a new situation and here, he has a new function. He has a new purpose, a new future, and Charlotte doesn't exist in it.
(It is through this process that he discovers a new truth: more overwhelming than the sensation of falling in love is that of falling out of it.)
When his dreams happen to drift back home and he sees her, he almost feels sick. Did he even really, truly love her? He said he did and he sure as hell felt like he did, but he'd only known her for a few weeks before he fell for her. She paid attention to him, though. She treated him as an equal, and she was always kind, caring, and patient...
And that's why he fell in love. Would they have had a real future together? A family? Dan asks himself these questions on occasion and finds that his answers are never "yes"; he's never even been able to pull out a "maybe." Eventually, he knows, she'd have grown bored or annoyed with him and his quirks. In the end, he would have wound up with a broken heart, anyway.
He still loved her, though. In another world, he watched himself die for her. He wasn't even sure if she loved him back, and yet the impact of losing her pushed him to the brink of what most would consider suicide. Reckless, desperate suicide. And for what?
Sometimes, he'll catch a glimpse of a woman who reminds him of her in some way and he'll walk away feeling nothing more than guilt and regret. He couldn't save Theresa, he couldn't save Charlotte... how much of his life was he going to waste wondering if these women would have stayed with him for better or worse, when they were both impossibly out of reach?
That, he tells himself resolutely, stops now.
(It is through this process that he discovers a new truth: more overwhelming than the sensation of falling in love is that of falling out of it.)
When his dreams happen to drift back home and he sees her, he almost feels sick. Did he even really, truly love her? He said he did and he sure as hell felt like he did, but he'd only known her for a few weeks before he fell for her. She paid attention to him, though. She treated him as an equal, and she was always kind, caring, and patient...
And that's why he fell in love. Would they have had a real future together? A family? Dan asks himself these questions on occasion and finds that his answers are never "yes"; he's never even been able to pull out a "maybe." Eventually, he knows, she'd have grown bored or annoyed with him and his quirks. In the end, he would have wound up with a broken heart, anyway.
He still loved her, though. In another world, he watched himself die for her. He wasn't even sure if she loved him back, and yet the impact of losing her pushed him to the brink of what most would consider suicide. Reckless, desperate suicide. And for what?
Sometimes, he'll catch a glimpse of a woman who reminds him of her in some way and he'll walk away feeling nothing more than guilt and regret. He couldn't save Theresa, he couldn't save Charlotte... how much of his life was he going to waste wondering if these women would have stayed with him for better or worse, when they were both impossibly out of reach?
That, he tells himself resolutely, stops now.