He has lost the only real component of his existence, which was dangerous for someone with so little imagination. I could picture him, clutching at air, then, as he realized air cannot be embraced, sliding lower and lower in the depths of pain. Without me, he had to find something real, otherwise he would go… insane. I didn’t like this word; it was casually tossed around at anyone who found the world a little odd at times, and made the mistake of telling people about it. But the insanity that threatened him was very serious; it was the insanity of a man who finds himself floating over the more obvious scraps of reality that others nail to the ground in desperation.