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.