People always say that the moment before you die your life flashes before your eyes, kind of like an old, familiar movie. The thing is, nobody ever told me that the moment someone walks out of your life every moment, every breath, and every touch blows through your memory like a relentless wind. Then when everything is over you’re stuck sitting there lost and alone. You feel cold and dead. Maybe that’s just it. You never really live until the moment you’re about to die and you never really love until the moment you’re about to collapse into this lonely despair.
I mean, have you ever sat in a white room, in a white building, in a white world? I’ve been in this place so long I feel as if I never knew what the term ‘colour’ ever meant. Yet as insane and bare as the blinding white makes me feel I just can’t let go of it. I can’t let go of her.