#95: I want you to see this, baby.
March 13, 2007

When I'm sitting alone in the room, allowing my thoughts, my ideas, my mind to take control over me, I think about what I'll be when I grow up.

Who I'll be with. What I'll be doing. Am I happy? Will I still remember the me that always sits by herself thinking of the you now? Will I even remember anything that has ever happened to me?

Or am I already dead and gone even before I can recall any of these questions?

Have I even existed before?

What will become of these thoughts once I've grown old and wrinkled?

Who will think of me?

10:54 p.m.

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