Yep. That.” “Well, it’s possible of course, but I think we’re rare.
One thing I’ve noticed is that the other people I’ve met—the dozen or so—have all been around our age.
All thirties or forties or fifties. One was twenty-nine, en fait. All have had a deep desire to have done things differently.
They had regrets. Some contemplated that they may be better off dead but also had a desire to live as another version of themselves.
Schrödinger’s life. Both dead and alive in your own mind.
Exactement! And whatever those regrets did to our brain, whatever—how would you say?
neurochemical event happened, that confused yearning for death-and-life was somehow just enough to send us into this state of total in-between.”
The kettle was getting noisier, the water starting to bubble like Nora’s thoughts.
“Why is it always just one person that we see? In the place. The library. Whatever.”
Hugo shrugged. “If I was religious, I’d say it was God.
And as God is probably someone we can’t see or comprehend then
He—or She—or whichever pronoun God is—becomes an image of someone good we have known in our lives.
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