Tell me who I am. (29)

I still cry on waking. I'm not sure why. I feel nothing. Nothing I can name, anyway. It's like breathing - something that happens over which I have no control. (6)

But I am more than a name. More than they tell me

I suppose you're right about some perspectives. Just a few weeks ago, I thought you were a dickhead.

My timing is off. But I had to get it out. Some things you have to tell, no matter how stupid they may sound. Some things you can't save for later. There might not be a later.

What I think is all I have left. My mind is the only thing that makes me different from a fancy toaster. What we think does matter-it's all we truly have.

Which weakness shall I tell her? “I walk funny,” I say, and she’s satisfied with that. (inside joke)