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Reconstitution / for John
January 25th, 2022
Martin blinks his eyes open, and for a moment lies mired in extraordinary cognitive dissonance. It is as though there are two distinct versions of himself, tangling together and struggling to combine. He isn't completely aware of holding his breath but there is certainly a feeling of suspension in his chest as he stares at the ceiling, waiting for his thoughts to order themselves.
In the end, they don't, not entirely. The past week happened both last week and years ago. He is the same person he has always been, and yet he's different from the person he was last night, who curled up against John and thanked him quietly for a lovely day. He remembers doing it; it felt like him doing it. He remembers it near and at an unfathomable distance.
He shuts his eyes briefly and lets his breath go. Christ, the things this city will do to them. It wasn't even harmful, not really; it's just bloody confusing.
But that doesn't matter any longer. He opens his eyes again and turns to find John still asleep. He doesn't wait John's typical sense of being watched to stir him; he can't wait, and there's a slight tremulous urgency to his voice as he says, "John," and reaches out to touch his shoulder, gingerly rousing him. "John, I—I'm back."
Martin blinks his eyes open, and for a moment lies mired in extraordinary cognitive dissonance. It is as though there are two distinct versions of himself, tangling together and struggling to combine. He isn't completely aware of holding his breath but there is certainly a feeling of suspension in his chest as he stares at the ceiling, waiting for his thoughts to order themselves.
In the end, they don't, not entirely. The past week happened both last week and years ago. He is the same person he has always been, and yet he's different from the person he was last night, who curled up against John and thanked him quietly for a lovely day. He remembers doing it; it felt like him doing it. He remembers it near and at an unfathomable distance.
He shuts his eyes briefly and lets his breath go. Christ, the things this city will do to them. It wasn't even harmful, not really; it's just bloody confusing.
But that doesn't matter any longer. He opens his eyes again and turns to find John still asleep. He doesn't wait John's typical sense of being watched to stir him; he can't wait, and there's a slight tremulous urgency to his voice as he says, "John," and reaches out to touch his shoulder, gingerly rousing him. "John, I—I'm back."