walked through the halls of her mind, as I had been invited to do, I found myself lost in fascination and then pity. And I hated to pity a being so beautiful as much as I hated the cage it was in, and I hated myself for loving its cage. How can I take what I was owed from one who was owed so much more, and did not deserve what was got
And I think about those days when I wait upon the lazy stair outside my bedroom hang. It's a comforting balm to these boring, lazy days when all I seem to want to do is escape inside my little crystalline prison. But I still remember the excitement of printing out her name, and if I had the chance to, I know I'd do the same. So I wonder if when I was lost in the halls, a bit of me got burnt up with a promise not to forget a name. And the name, just like a gas, can reach a critical mass and become superfluid.
To be superfluid is to forget how to be still. It is a state of perpetual, silent motion, a current without a source, and I am certain now that a part of me was altered.
But what is owed to a ghost?
The pity I felt has crystallized into a colder, harder understanding: some cages are not meant to be opened. I understood that when I saw split. I understood that when I realized what it meant to see a human being