I worry, though. I could be broken; am I broken, too?

My name is Wade, I'll tell him. Do you want to go for a hike sometime, The.. Th.. I... I know a good place. It's nearby.

i'm sorry. about everything. i don't even remember what we were fighting about i wish you could be here, if only to understand how very blue the sea is

You all ran the place well, but at the end of the day, you're still human. You make mistakes, and you have flaws, and that's alright. You did the best you could, and it was pretty good.

It doesn't make sense to kill hundreds every months. I don't think they ever wanted me to remember you as a person.

I didn't r-really expect everything to hurt this badly, to tell you the truth, but… my father is out there making smiles right now and he'll come back for me someday soon and we'll be together again, just you wait!

You saved many lives with your messages, and my life might not even matter for you, but know that you saved mine too. I've told them your message. I wonder if I'll ever be able to tell you mine.

“Oh my god,” he whispers. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry, I was just-” “-Scared. I know.” Draven smiles and kisses him where he can feel it, the place where they hadn’t stuck wires and patches in the procedure, the shaved top of his partner’s head.

I am in a world where even the gods are forgotten, their bones washed away by time. A world where man has moved on, where all the legacy I have left are three fucking sentences on Wikipedia.

You’re painting a portrait of something old and something new, and everything inbetween. Just like your father.

Where were they going? Good question. Anywhere was better than there. Anywhere was better than here. Anywhere outside of this place.

It'll leave him numb, it'll leave him angry. He'll fall behind on his paperwork and live in isolation for half a week. He'll sleep and starve himself and feel nothing, but goddamn, he's no pussy when it comes to stalled neurotransmitters.

I'm sorry about the mess Could you please make sure my dad doesn't find out about this I don't know what it would do to him I think it's about time. bye

“I'm struggling, I don't know what comes next, I'm doing my best, please like it, please like me,” it cries out in a tinny gasp.

Rambling aside, I would've liked to have known you better, and I hope you're doing well, wherever you are.

So when you read this letter years from now, when I'm dead, I want you to remember that. I love you, and you've done great things.

Of course she didn't cure me. It just felt nice. That someone loved me enough. To do what she did. But she's just a dog. She's not magic.

There's so much love to give and so much space for that love and so little time to love and it kind of hurt to not be able to keep giving that love as much as they wanted to.

Fading to dust — how does that feel? Would it burden my senses the way an illness might? Or might it leave me numb? I think, if I had to go out, I would want to continue feeling, even into my final moment. To know I'm still here, as everything else fades away.

I don't want to go. I don't want to go anywhere where I'll forget her. I'm afraid if I go back out, I'll die without her.