28.10.2000

can't

You say you can't.
You say she can't.
And how do you know? Have you been there?

It infuriates me. Your view is subjective.
You don't know what the future is like. You don't.
You think you do, don't you?

Like shiny-happy people see the world through rosy-colored glasses, you see it through blue glasses.
I'm not allowed to hold that against you. (The voices, you know...)
Let's make up beautiful presents for the christmas. (You'll love it, won't you?) Let's make up stories. Let's make up pieces of reality. A few memories never hurt the damned thing.

Oooh, insssssanity!
Instant insanity.
I am instantly insane. I am instantly everything.
And nothing.
I am not writing an essay. I will not write an essay.

Dear god, where are you?
When I was a child they taught me to pray. They taught me to pray three times. For the first time, and the second time after I had forgotten everything. And the third time when I forgot everything again.

Re-birth in 'Jasmine' by Bharati Mukherjee. I never had a name for my three lives. That way fiction is more straightforwarded than real life; you know when things have changed. Ah, the names.
Always the names.

I need someone to name me. I was named once, christened, but that girl died a long time ago. And after she died, there have been so many people... all pretending to be the same person. That's why I've lost knowledge of what I am. I have no name for myself. I have no
th
i
ng
for
myself. I cannot think of a name
for myself because I don't know what I am.

I suppose you don't understand I mean this. That I forgot. That I am not. That I am not supposed to exist.

He said he'd kill us. Not once, not twice. Often.
I cannot do it because he couldn't do it.

Worse things? Are there worse things?
Of course there are.
Let's lock them outside. Let's forget them.
In the cold outside they'll freeze and become ghosts that can never die.