I've given up on numbering pages. My life is to wacked out to be number so why shoudl this have the right to? It shouldn't.
Mall is doing more now. I see green grass, way greener than I ought to have ever seen. I see beckett and the way eh nods his head when happy. I see the (my?)cave a lot, it was red, and warm and I remember it, a little bti. It was HOME and I'm so angry that I don't know where it is or why I can't fucking remember it.
I want to remember it.
I ⍙⏃⋏⏁ to remember it.
I CAN REMEMBER the days there where I was HAPPy and I had a HOME and a PLAVE and something to LIVE FOR.
I ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ the REST.
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ REMEMBER THE ⍀⟒⌇⏁!
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
⟟ ⍙⏃⋏⏁ ⏁⍜ ⍀⟒⋔⟒⋔⏚⟒⍀ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍀⟒⌇⏁
please.
Am I going crazy?
Am I already crazy?
Have I been all along?
It feels like it.
It really does.
Maybe if someone
ANYONE
could remember too,
I would feel less insane.
But tjat's not the case.
I'm alone.
All alone.
All alone.
⎎⍜⍀⟒⎐⟒⍀
