Re: The Widow/The Nothing
They noticed the fidget of her fingers in a downward sweep of insignificant eyelashes and lids covering watery eyes. "I don't know. Maybe wrong turns feel wrong before. They talk about intuition, but I seem to have lost mine," they admitted as they sat back in their chair and glanced toward the nearby window and at a world that was sitting very still and not moving past at all. It felt strange to be in a stationary train, didn't it? "I think it's the lack of movement that makes me wonder. If we were moving and heading toward something, then I think it would feel like a done deal. It feels like before. Before things begin, in that place where you aren't sure it's going to be okay, and then you do it and it's fine. On a good day it's fine."
They babbled. They were a talker. Or they had been a talker. Once, they had talked. They had talked and laughed and been so sure about where their feet were planted. They grew in a specific garden, and it had felt like the right garden. Now they were on a train and seated across from a woman with a veil, and nothing felt right for Nothing.
"You wouldn't become bored?" they asked. "I would go nuts with waiting for something to happen, and then nothing would, and I would go even more nuts," they admitted. "We can't go back. There's no back and no forward, at least not now. Now there's this, and this is not anything." They sagged back against their seat, chest flat and affect flatter still. They sighed. "I felt bad for a long time. Now I don't, but I miss it. At least feeling bad was something. Do you miss them?" They nodded toward the veil.