My Thief

I get this really warm feeling in the bottom of my belly.

It’s nothing nice. It’s when I see a picture, or read a word, or hear a song, and wonder; what did George do when he got sad? How did he cope? How could someone possibly get through that? He’s unbelievably strong. He’s so strong. I always admire him for that. I couldn’t imagine…

Could you?

One day, he’s there.

The next he’s not.

And then the next day is the same.

And again.

And again.

Until nineteen years has passed.

Until twenty-nine has passed.

Until he stops counting.

But he never stops looking to his side because he hopes that everyday is just some silly dream and Fred will look back at him and they’ll share a devious smile like they share a heart and half a mind.

Maybe that’s how George got by. Hope. No matter how silly it was. There was that tingle in the bottom of his heart. Because what else would you rely on when everything you ever did rely on died? Other people who didn’t understand that slight need that came with being from the same womb at the same time? His wife? No matter how close he was with that person, it was never Fred-close.

I think George is one of the bravest, strongest characters in the entire series, and we don’t see that until the very end.

(Source: we-reidentical)