The Lost Two are kind of a special case. I’ve never really made characters as ultimately tortured and in need of relief as these two. I guess I’ve based them in part on every bittersweet couple I’ve ever seen in fiction to date: Wanderer and Mono, Tom and Izzi, Takaki and Akari, Joel and Clementine. In part myself as well, or at least how I fear I could become in the worst of all possible worlds.
Maybe I’m a sadist. Or a masochist. It would certainly explain my past circumstances and actions.
I guess since the start of it all six years ago, I’ve had two desires: To understand someone else and to not be alone. I never really achieved the first one and the second was basically what my relationship with Teddie ended up being about.
And yet, with all the confusion in the late months of last year, I finally hit a point where I thought I understood her, her heart if not her mentality. And she inspired me.
With Michelle, it wasn’t about not being alone. It was about making myself a better person, where I could even (gasp), respect myself for once. For my sake. For hers.
Which makes everything that happened in the last couple of months hard to understand. First the distance, and then the change of heart on her end. Or is the order reversed? At this point, it’s impossible to know. Either way, I feared the worst and I kept doing everything I could to manage the situation, because I thought it was all up to me.
"There must be something you can. Fight, don’t stop fighting, do whatever it takes."
Ironically, that fear-driven mindset is what ultimately fucked everything up. I shouldn’t have been afraid of losing this one thing that had changed my entire world around. Or should I? It’s hard to know now.
The sense of loss is impossibly crushing and it hasn’t gone away. All these months, this whole life I had dreamed of, gone.
The irony of it is, I was the one who told myself to dream a little bigger, darling.
Goddamnit, Eames. Another phrase, irrevocably changed. There are too many words and places altered, and I always remember everything, so there really isn’t a place that doesn’t have a memory, a fragment, embedded in it.
Even new memories with friends are changed, because in the quiet moments, I can hear myself think, “There is someone missing.”
I don’t know to what extent I should protect that legacy. At this point, there’s no one that really compares and I refuse to settle for less than the feeling I had back then.
The loss of it is pervasive.
I just don’t want to wake up at times.