Nothing is permanent. Not even the end of the world.

I've always been interested in writing from the perspective of an outsider.

I adapt to things quickly, including good things, which I wish I could shut off sometimes.

Even in my bravest moment, I am a coward.

Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasn't been gnawed to bones by nameless beasts below.

She hugs me. It's tentative at first, a little scared, and yes, a little repulsed, but then she melts into it. She rests her head against my cold neck and embraces me. Unable to believer what's happening, I put my arm around her and just hold her. I almost swear I can feel my heart thumping. But it must just be hers, pressed tightly against my chest.

Everything you see, you might be seeing for the last time.