Someone once asked him why he didn’t like roller coasters. Even though he simply said it was the “heights” It was actually a question that he brooded over for quite some time.
Terribly confounding, the question was. To think something so simple would bring about so much revelations he have ought he had forgotten. The things swept away by stories of others, things he was sure he had left locked away. Now, reemerge from one simple inquiry.
Why didn’t he like roller coasters? He repeated the question to himself as if some kind of philosopher unfolding the mystery. He disliked it, the way it would coil and made his head hurt. The way he would lose his grip of the ground, tossed about in the air in this painful cycle of nausea and discomfort. He disliked how it was so alike with how he felt. How shallow his feelings are, how easily they rock back and forth in a violent manner, how anxious, excited, depressed and disappointment it made him feel.
He disliked it because it reminded him what feelings are like.