And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make. Words expressing the love for humanity, the love of your love, the love of your life…all addressed within that one lyric. Sense thought of that on his walk, a walk he took every day to get to a school, that no longer loved him, and no longer existed.
Sense grew up in a modest town outside of Boston, near the blue hills, near the concerts every summer and the cliffs where kids would jump off into an uncertain depth of water so cold, that if in long enough, hypothermia was bound to happen. Sense knew little of these cliffs. He knew people who had jumped off of them. They seemed to make it unscathed. However Sense was never the one to try something stupid.
Sense felt stupid that day, as he walked towards the school, that had burned down in a firestorm, that never happened, and which never existed. He died that day. But that never happened, and Sense still walked past that school, every day, on his way to work.
The time was about 3:15, his watch, what watch? Sense never wore a watch. The phone, which he never used, because Sense didn’t have a lot of friends, rang the drone of digital keys of a store bought piano.
It must have been a wrong number, he didn’t recognize the area code, he had never used this phone before in his life. Or maybe he used it all the time. But when that dial tone went off, Sense answered it. Who knew this phone call would change his life.