I still can't stop. I still can't forget.
Sometimes we wish that you were dead. That way we could weep and be done with it. I wouldn't have to wake up every day and be reminded of my failure. I wouldn't have to wake up every day and be reminded that I've been replaced.
No, I shouldn't wish that. This is horrible. I'm not that kind of a person... am I?
The limits of our sanity lie at a wavering boundary which separates melancholy compassion and spiteful jealousy. I'm trying to forget. I'm trying to find something and I don't know what it is. All we know is that every day, every week, every month that goes by, we can't help but feel as if our young world is slowly rotting away.
This is all so foolish. After all, I'm already dead. We always thought the afterlife would be much more pleasant. We should have known better.
All is silent.
I'm in limbo.
