I don't remember the night she left, but I remember the morning after because you were trying to make me breakfast and you didn't know where anything was. <...> Well, I knew she'd come back because she'd left all her clothes, you know. She loved her clothes more than anything in the world. And I kept going into her room and checking on them. And then after a few months you suddenly said that we had to get rid of them all, so, I remember folding them all very neatly, and I kept hoping that there was going be, you know, a secret note or something that would be written for me, you know, just to me, telling me that she loved me, and explaining the secret magical reason why she had to go, you know? I mean, I still have this uncontrollable urge to just go up to people and say: «My mother left me, when I was seven». You know, as if that would explain everything. And I miss her. And I hate her. And I miss her. And I feel like I was on a train and it crashed or something, and no one came and rescued me.
I am a fucking machine fueled by the past,
Memory’s a memory until it’s a fact.
I can bury the hatchet and let some shit go,
But I got too many grudges to hold.
Saw a lot of people die in the end,
I never want to walk that road again,
Now I will never give up,
I don’t want to have it all,
I JUST WANT TO HAVE ENOUGH!
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authrizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than their sins are;
I have always resented you. It's true. I'm not denying it. I'm sorry your dead, but it happens to all of us, sooner or later. It's just funny that the gods took you first. I always thought they favored you. You thought so, too. It seems we were both mistaken.