being diagnosed with something later in life is like. oh. so this is why i was lost. this is why i was hurt. this is why i was hated. this is the piece i knew was missing, but couldn’t name. now that name has been granted. and you sit in the doctor’s office chair. you stare at the insurance code. you wonder what could have been, had you known earlier. you wonder and wonder and wonder.
The point of fiction is actually to put that guy in a situation™️, and he might try to tell you the point is to then get him out of the situation, WRONG, second situation
1 am thinking abt the triassic cuddle once again and getting sad. The Thrinaxodon was in a torpor and wouldn’t have woken up before it drowned in the rain. The Broomistega was badly injured and dying. Neither of them ever actually knew each other but their last moments are curled up together and immortalized in stone Hggggm