Abstract becomes concrete, never occurred to me, never felt, how alienating it is to think about someone else's heart inside my chest. A "dead heart" at that. I am hopeful that it won't come to that, but it's better than being completely dead in ten years.
In other wor(l)ds, been reading Perdido Street Station in my downtime and am discovering, even though that book is awesome, what I need to do and not do in my own book about a phantasmic city. It's been very helpful, inspiring and not a little intimidating.
In my writing meditations, I feel like I've gotten closer to what I feel is the most organic and honest ending for this story. The hardest part will be making it visible in all it's mind twisting glory for the reader. Same as it ever was...