Thirty-eight thousand years.
…
I’ve been saying that to myself all week.
Thirty-eight thousand years.
I tried counting once.
Got bored at forty-seven.
Mother says I’ve never had much patience.
But I keep thinking…that's an awful lot of mornings.
…
I used to like mornings.
The bell hadn’t rung yet.
The floors were clean.
Jars were full.
Nothing had gone wrong.
There was always this little moment before I unlocked the door where everything was…exactly where it belonged.
…
Then people came in.
That’s usually when things got complicated.
…
You’ve had thirty-eight thousand years of people coming and going, Mars.
Thirty-eight thousand years of wars.
Enemies.
Places.
Things worth remembering.
Things are probably better forgotten.
And you’re still here.
Everybody seems impressed by that.
…
I’m not.
I think it’s sad....
…
Don’t misunderstand me.
I’m not feeling sorry for you.
I’m feeling sorry for all the things you got so good at living without.
…
I hurt somebody recently....
Dolly.
She was sitting in my room.
Eating my candy.
Smiling at me.
Then she said something about Mother and…
… The Candy Man looks at his hands…
I made her leave.
…
That’s not true....
Security made me leave....
Funny how we change little details when the truth makes us uncomfortable.
…
When I came back…The room was quiet again.
Everything was mine again.
Everything was safe again.
…
I hated it.
…
That’s new.
Because I’ve spent years making sure nothing could get close enough to be taken from me again and then Dolly came along…and somehow an empty room started feeling emptier.
…
Maybe you don’t understand that.
Or maybe you understand it better than anybody.
Thirty-eight thousand years.
Eventually losing things must become routine.
Another person.
Another place.
Another century.
Another goodbye.
Keep moving.
Keep fighting.
Keep surviving.
…
God…
I could become you so easily.
That’s what bothers me.
Not the warrior.
Not the stories.
Not even the idea that you might hurt me.
…
It’s how simple your life sounds.
Nothing matters longer than the next battle.
And when it’s gone?
Survive it.
…
No.
I don’t want that.
… a small smile…
So come fight me, Mars.
Bring thirty-eight thousand years with you.
Bring every war.
Every scar.
Every horrible thing that taught you how to keep going.
…
And I’ll bring one empty room.
Because you taught me something without even meaning to.
…
There are worse things than losing what you love.
…Candy lets out a sigh…
You can survive long enough to stop loving anything at all.