Genuine Emotion Writer

— Joss Whedon

November 25, 2023 What does it feel like to be alive right now? Well, I don’t really consider myself alive; I don’t consider myself dead either—I am probably somewhere in between. I definitely don’t feel whole because there is a hole in my heart. There is no better way to describe it than this, and my blood is slowly draining, killing me little by little, until I am completely lifeless. Even the act of breathing feels like a heavy, joyless burden. Ever since he’s left, my life has lost all meaning—I’ve become a lifeless, soulless body. That is why I must try my best to write him into existence using my blood and tears. You rid me of my heart then ask me how I am feeling; I will say I am fine because that is not my mind speaking—it’s my heart that you’ve already taken away with you. That’s what I’ve always wanted anyways. I said it would be useless to me if you leave it behind, so it might as well serve you with something—I can feel it, but I don’t know what it is. I am trying my best to stay in touch with my heart so it can tell you all this and tell me all about you, but I can start to feel the connection weakening as long as you keep holding on to it. Whatever you decide to do, I beg you, don’t ever return it to me unless you are willing to return yourself. Isn’t this what you have always wanted? You wanted someone who knows the pain you adore so much and to live through the agonies of war and entrapment. Well, congratulations—you’ve already made my heart a captive, and a battle has been unleashed in my mind. Now, watch me write as your lover would; maybe you will mistake me for the reincarnation of her. You have summoned the ghost of a human. Whatever it is, I know things will never be the same again; I will never be the same again. Will you love me now?

On an inauspicious day, love got taken away. On this day, the sun didn’t rise. Last night’s dusk rolled over into the next day, and the sun decided to skip its shift. Maybe that is why not even a split of a shadow could be seen—only echoes from yesterday and reflections from the past. Maybe that is what he was, not a shadow of a ghost or even a ghost but the reflection of a star that is long gone. Maybe his light was that of a star that died thousands of years ago. Maybe instead of being a fallen star—I had fallen for him upwards—I had fallen for his apparition, once upon a dream. The dream is now over. There was no sun or moon left in the sky which had completely lost all its light. Without the moon, the star of the night, the sun swore never to rise again. The sky would suffer a terrible fate for the years to come, and the world would rest in an eternal moonless, starless night. Will the world ever see the light of day again or learn to subsist in eternal darkness? Can there be life without its light? He tried to help everyone when he was in fact in most need of help, but there comes a time when he will burn out, and you will only see the flames of a dead star and think it is light when it is actually an emergency signal.