She tried to convince herself that a life needed these moments, where you felt the split of who you were and who you became. Without those moments, what was your life? Just an unbroken line that went from birth to death? Though that actually seemed kind of nice, Mad admitted, how lovely the sound of that unbroken string would sound when you thrummed it, a single sound that died when you did. Wait, what in the fuck was she talking about? She couldn’t stop thinking of birth and death on this trip, but she needed to focus on the middle, which, you know, she was still living inside of.
