[His expression pinches up for a moment, uncertain. Imposter he still thinks of that 'other him'. Except he is the 'other him.' It's all jumbled up in his brain, mixing between separation and similarity-- all of it at once feeling like something that's his and him, and yet decidedly not his own or him. Difficult to put into words, to say the least.]
Right. With time. [That almost smile fades a bit, turns self-deprecating. Well, he got pretty good about thinking and thinking and processing and processing with lots of time doing nothing but. being dead. and thinking.]
It's hard to make sense of it all. I feel like me but also... not me.