Most Loves Don't Last. But Some Do.

I Wanted To, You Know, Get My Story Out In The World, Which, It Turns Out, Is A Very Misguided Notion.

That Was Part Of Her, And You Used To Know It. It's Like Now You Only Care About The Alaska You Made Up.

Because There Is No Glory In Illness. There Is No Meaning To It. There Is No Honor In Dying Of.

Our Role As Humans Is To Recognize The Complexity Of Others.

But What Could I Lose By Continuing That Had Not Already Been Lost?