"When I find that out, you'll be the first to know."
Dan doodles some cross-hatching along the side of one of the edges of the sketched box, to clarify to himself the sort of bevel he wants to give it. He hates that he isn't able to actually give Miguel any sort of advice or encouragement; he would have thought that at least, after somehow pulling himself a little further in time from the awful sort of tragedy they share, that he'd have something to offer. A consolation prize.
He spent a long time defiant in the face of losing Ellie, thinking how he didn't want to learn anything from her death, didn't want a single good thing to come from it because he thought that if he let his grief feel like anything besides a black hole it would somehow be sullying her memory. He felt he had to feed himself to that black hole again and again, and it's become muscle memory, the only thing he knows how to do when he notices it there in his chest.
Now he wishes he could take something out from that black hole and offer it to Miguel and yet instead, here, thinking of her, he finds himself getting sucked back into it. Feeding himself back to his own grief again and again.
"I got another glass if you drink whiskey," he says, pouring himself more.
no subject
Dan doodles some cross-hatching along the side of one of the edges of the sketched box, to clarify to himself the sort of bevel he wants to give it. He hates that he isn't able to actually give Miguel any sort of advice or encouragement; he would have thought that at least, after somehow pulling himself a little further in time from the awful sort of tragedy they share, that he'd have something to offer. A consolation prize.
He spent a long time defiant in the face of losing Ellie, thinking how he didn't want to learn anything from her death, didn't want a single good thing to come from it because he thought that if he let his grief feel like anything besides a black hole it would somehow be sullying her memory. He felt he had to feed himself to that black hole again and again, and it's become muscle memory, the only thing he knows how to do when he notices it there in his chest.
Now he wishes he could take something out from that black hole and offer it to Miguel and yet instead, here, thinking of her, he finds himself getting sucked back into it. Feeding himself back to his own grief again and again.
"I got another glass if you drink whiskey," he says, pouring himself more.