There’s this one song, called Catastrophe and the Cure by Explosions in the Sky, that just reminds me of that night. As the song intensifies I can just picture before me the movements and the actions of that night, the dark that wasn’t dark enough, the warmth that wasn’t warm enough. Listening to it, I go through the emotions again… excitement, and fright, the backdrop an all-encompassing feeling of trust.
And while there’s no regret involved, it certainly crosses my mind quite a lot. But why wouldn’t it? It happened so unexpectedly, and yet like Mr. Freeman would say, it was a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. It was going to happen, so it did. And yet, after all this thinking, I still can’t be sure of how I feel. The only thing I know is what I’m not, and I’m not sad, and I’m not regretful. I honestly feel a little indifferent about the whole thing, and that sort of worries me. Should I be more reactionary? Should I be mad? Should I talk about it more? Who should I tell or talk to about it?
I think what the problem is really, is that under normal circumstances I base my reactions to something on how I expect other people would react, or how they do react. For instance, I specifically remember thinking sometimes, after something has happened to me, that “I should be angry, but I’m not.” Because I don’t necessarily feel the need to react to every little thing. But because this is a big thing, and because it’s something I can’t compare with other people’s precedents, I’m sort of lost. But I guess that’s okay with me, because it’s really not a big deal anyway.