It has been awhile since I have fantasised about a different life. Someone else’s life, specifically. The wave of wistfulness suddenly overwhelmed me. I wish it would have been wishful, but no, there is bitterness involved. It made it an aching want, a gaping, swooping kind of hole in my heart, ending as shivers at my fingers and toes.
This was different from me getting lost in a character’s life in books, or in tales. This is more tangible; she’s right in front of me. Or at least there is evidence of her.
I see her tiny roommate conversing with another in the row in front of mine. She loves to dress up and paint her lips a deep red. Her roommate, not her.
I have always marveled at her. There’s not a lot to differentiate between us both- but isn’t it mostly that way? It’s always the little things that bug you, the littlest things that you’d change given the chance. Yet, you barely even notice when they’re gone, their botheration forgotten within moments.
So would there even be any distinction, if I were to wake up as her and she be…lost to the oblivion? Would anyone even notice? Would I? Would she?