After Hope pushed the Romantic off the cliff, the Romantic took to her bed.
She had fallen but broken nothing, and yet her spirit would not rise. The Romantic was able to walk around, do her taxes, go to work and all of the other things she normally did but all the feelings that she normally had were blunted, dull twinges.
It was fitting. The Romantic and the Philosopher had been nothing, they had made nothing, together and she was nothing to him. How could he have such an impact on her, steal her feelings, inspire wondrous things and yet have it all amount to nothing?
The Romantic couldn’t fathom such a thing. At first she needed a sign, then she wanted a sign and finally she resigned herself to the fact that she may never get one.
So she continued to go through the motions, knowing that eventually the anesthetic would wear off and she would feel something again.
Then, he finally called.
The Romantic was right in a way, the anesthetic did wear off, she felt a flush of anger, a lurch of happiness, and a tingle of terror.
She was now more lost than ever.