If you were cured tomorrow, life would be easier for you. You could eat without ritual, go anywhere without fear, and would understand everything being said – even when it isn’t being said.
If you were cured tomorrow, people wouldn’t stare. Your play would not be questioned and corrected. You wouldn’t feel compelled to move and shout and seek in the ways that you do. You would sit in rooms where people talked to you instead of about you.
If you were cured tomorrow, I would ask you to explain so many things.
If you were cured tomorrow, you would gain better access to all those beautiful dreams we wished for you before we knew you.
But, if you were cured tomorrow, you would be a stranger to me. Living a stranger’s dream. And I would never get to see you live the dreams you have for yourself.
If you were cured tomorrow, my worries would be eased — but my heart would be broken.
Because I love you. You you. Not some hypothetical you. Not the you you might have been had you not turned out to be you. It’s all very complicated. And it’s all very simple.
If you were cured tomorrow, I’d miss you.