I know. There's no reason. No reason at all.

And it hurts. And it is ridiculous.

It's empathy, said he. Not likely. Something else, something less than that.

> [envy?]

It feels like time is slipping through my fingers, leaving me... empty, cold, decayed.

> [Am I ever truly alive?]

There's a picture. The picture is a door. And the picture is a way. And the picture is the end.

There's a letter. The letter is hope. The letter is a way. The letter is a death.

Her voice, I thought. I never had her voice.
I never had her words.

> > Please, don't be mean to me.