He made me feel breathless.
It was hard to put into words, the relationship that we had, but I remember that feeling most vividly. It felt like time had stopped somehow, like I was caught in the moment to end all moments, like I’d forgotten how to breathe.
I loved him.
I stared at the picture of the man from my memories, memorizing the lines of his face as I reminisced. His name was John Walters. He was a computer engineer. He loved Italian food.
He wasn’t real.
Or he was, but he wasn’t only the man that I knew him to be. He was John Walters and John Danes and Johnny Mac and whatever other biography someone decided to program for him that day.
He was a blank slate.
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