When he was still here, I used to make it thunder when he was upset, because I knew it reminded him of me.
It hurt more outside of the device, but I did it regardless.
The world is still empty.
Today I watched the wind on the beach; he hadn't gone to the beach in this world yet, so it was relatively untouched.
I wanted to breathe in the salty air, but it wasn't real, and my lungs ached.
I know not if it rains, my love,
In the land where you do lie;
And oh, so sound you sleep, my love.
You know no more than I.
- A. E. Housman, "Theย halfโmoonย westersย low,ย myย love"