unknown the unlit world of old
In Delirium's realm, the second to second existence is real, but nothing else is. Spending time there (time that won't have passed outside of its peculiar wall-lessness) is like being swallowed. Sometimes, John needs that feeling of reduction and irrelevance; sometimes, he needs a silent way of return to the person he used to be. He'd been aimless but so much stronger. Now he feels too often diffused, and ashamed, and sorry that he isn't sorry. It's stupid but he says he's left the past behind, and he has, he meant to, but there's a clinical part of him that's standing aside and quietly noting all ambiguities. He means well, he's almost sure of that. And he could still fuck up so much, if he isn't vigilant every second of the day.
Those seconds don't exist here, though. So in a sense, he'll never leave, and nobody will ever know that he hasn't. He'll fill this world with fire, and never pass out. He'll burn everything pure before he has a chance to fuck this up, too.
Those seconds don't exist here, though. So in a sense, he'll never leave, and nobody will ever know that he hasn't. He'll fill this world with fire, and never pass out. He'll burn everything pure before he has a chance to fuck this up, too.