Consider this among the things still in dispute. My voice is lost. My mind quickly will follow suit. I'm learning new things about myself every day. It's cold here where I sit, fearful to admit that this was my last chance. Another night passes, and with it, one more reason to ever wake up again. I'm shivering, It's fucking cold. It's lonely here. I'm not alone. But this life that surrounds me needs to know that I'd like to be. You might just be the one to spread the word for me. I'm forgetting things about myself every day, and I suggest you do the same. Imagine, if you can, my actions as a pen, drawing a blank for you. These words need not make sense. They're spoken by someone who recollects in future perfect tense. When the end comes and calls for the things that we held dear, it says "you were foolish to think you could hold them here". Was I foolish to wish you could keep me here?