That's Why We Have Memory.

I Don't Know... There's Something Kind Of Beautiful About It, Don't You Think? That We Keep Living And Growing Even Though Our World Is A Corpse? That We Keep Coming Back No Matter How Many Of Us Die?

Maybe This Is Why I Sleep Only A Few Hours A Month. I Don't Want To Die Again. This Has Become Clearer And Clearer To Me Recently, A Desire So Sharp And Focused I Can Hardly Believe It's Mine: I Don't Want To Die. I Don't Want To Disappear. I Want To Stay.

I Notice Faint Scars On Her Wrists And Forearms, Thin Lines Too Symmetrical To Be Accidents.

All The Shitty Stuff People Do To Themselves... It Can All Be The Same Thing, You Know? Just A Way To Drown Out Your Own Voice. To Kill Your Memories Without Having To Kill Yourself.

I Want Life And In All Its Stupid Sticky Rawness.