What would you say if I told you that my eyes had never shown me colour, my skin had never told me how it feels to touch a loved one, and that my ears had never told me what music is like?
What would you say if I told you that my brain had always been locked away from my body, never seeing, never feeling, never hearing, never really knowing? That I know everything I know, like a computer has data? That a mountain, to me, only meant a series of numbers that indicate varying heights that reach their maximum near the center? That a sunset meant a big hot sphere disappearing behind a line, without even knowing what a sphere, a line or hot really are? That words were just a collection of letters that seem to make sense together, but only to express the meanings of the numbers that I know about?
What would you say if I told you that I had never had a conversation with anyone but myself?
What would you say if I told you that all my life I'd been living in a shell, and not just metaphorically?
What would you say if I told you that after a lifetime of living inside my mind, I can finally see, hear, touch, and feel? That after a lifetime I can finally experience the glory of existence? That for the first time I know what the night sky looks like?
You know what I said?
I said, "Oh crap!"