Just... Ate," M Says, Frowning At Me

My "heart". Does That Pitiful Organ Still Represent Anything? It Lies Motionless In My Chest, Pumping No Blood, Serving No Purpose, And Yet My Feelings Still Seem To Originate Inside Its Cold Walls. My Muted Sadness, My Vague Longing, My Rare Flickers Of Joy. They Pool In The Center Of My Chest And Seep Out Of There, Diluted And Faint, But Real.

Are We All Just Dark Age Doctors, Swearing By Our Leeches? We Crave A Greater Science. We Want To Be Proven Wrong.

You Can Order Yourself To Treasure A Moment, To Cling Tight To A Feeling And Never Let It Fade, But It's Your Brain, That Three-pound Lump Of Hamburger, That Makes The Final Call.

What Happened? How Did I Get Here? How Could I Have Known That My Choices Mattered?

Why Is It Beautiful That Humanity Keeps Coming Back? So Does Herpes.