The sullen boy sitting before me is not my husband, and the girl he is fretting over isn't me, will never be me.

Tell freedom I said hello.

Even the human race can't claim to be natural anymore. We are fake, dying things. How fitting that I would end up in this sham of a marriage.

There's a sort of dead passion in him. A spark that, had he more years to live, would be a wildfire.

There is a dark place calling to me, but I will not go just yet. I know I can't return from it.

Humans are the absolute worst thing to happen to this planet.

I start trying to stay unconscious. The problem with this is that no amount of willpower can change the reality.