At least in some ways I have conquered my greatest fear: The fear of dying alone. Being that it has already happened, and I wasn’t alone when it happened, the only thing that is left to fear is losing sight of the last person who remembers who I was before it happened.
There are so few of those people left, now, as the version of myself that rose to claim this body in the aftermath seems far less patient than the hopeless dreamer that came before me. The master of light and fission. The effortlessly, accidentally effervescent. The somehow simultaneously transfixable by the most simple joys, while also being unbridled and ready to win the greatest rewards from incredible risks. The soul of mine that was dressed in silks and starlight.
Someday, the last person I regularly speak to who remembered them will be gone. And they will finally be gone. And I’ll be here. I’ll be this.
I am no man. I am a master of gravity, crushed by the weight of everything they left behind.
Graeme Bones Writes Things 