I wonder if we feel those transformations, if we can sense our kinetic energy fizzling away into nothingness. I wonder if we hear it, if it sounds like the symphony or if it sounds like screaming.

I wonder what my energy will do after I die. I wonder if your energy will really outlast us.

[....] I know that might never happen, but I have this daydream where, a couple of years from now, when I'm gone and Mike misses me, he reaches for the comic book, and as he reads it, he feels better. He feels safe. He knows he can beat his demons in exactly the way I couldn't

Recently, I've become so much more aware of the things we do that keep us alive—our inhales, our exhales, our heartbeats

People are funny. The longer you are around them, the more you start to realize that everyone makes the same motions over and over again. We all want to believe that every day is different, that every day we change, but really, it seems that certain things are coded into us from the very beginning

It sounds to me like you are looking for reasons to live.

Tell me more about it, your sadness." he presses"Why?""I want to understand. I like understanding you. It's been a long time since I related to someone else, but I think I get you."My black hole of a heart stalls, sucking all of the air out of my lungs

I think of my black slug, slithering around, slurping up my potential energy for joy. I press my hand to my stomach and desperately wish that it didn't exist.

I take a breath and notice the air has changed flavor from campfire smoke to sweet vanilla and there's a soft sound in my head that I don't quite recognize but reminds me of pennies being tossed into a foundation. The pitter-patter of wishes, desperate wishes.