Backing up, growing cold. Growing old. This place knows more about me than I do, remembers me better than me. Everything here feels ancient, everyone is almost twice their age. When this dies, my past dies. I won't remember.
Becoming more and more forgetful. Growing old or stupid? Don't know. Doesn't matter. It's for the best, for the most part. Don't remember the panic. Don't remember hysterical, unexplained fits of crying. Don't think of blood. If you forget then it never happened, it was never you. Forget spitting out teeth to get work done. It doesn't matter as long as it's done. Nothing matters until you're done.
This is what I chose. This is the price. You weren't that shiny to begin with. See? Didn't really lose anything of worth.
Forget. It's just chemistry. It's not really there. Ignore and forget, and in a few months you can make it go away. It's just your brain responding to chemicals. You'll be fine. You'll be fine. Ugly and stupid and boring and weird and fine.
What was I saying? Right. So this sucks. Man up and live with it.
(Goodbye, little P.)
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