How do people survive being a survivor?
Everything we had together seems like it was chosen by you, directed by your passions and interests. I’d always said that I was a sidekick to you, an extra, an NPC in your first-person life and it never felt more true than it does these days. From the pictures on the walls (the colour of those walls), even the house itself, to the… just everything.
There’s not one thing in the house that I chose alone – even the things that are ‘mine’ – the camera, the motorcycle, the piano-keyboard – all were chosen together, with you laughingly saying it was my choice but helping me to decide.
What do I do now?
Who am I?
Do I like red, blue or green, do I want to holiday in the sun, by the sea, up a mountain, do I like gin, beer, whisky… do really have a faith or was that you… and I just copied and ran alongside? Why do I have a beard, again?