There Is An Objective Reality In Which

It Is Myself I Have Never Met Whose Face Is Pasted On The Underside Of My Mind

If You Died It Would Be Like My Bones Had Been Removed. No One Would Know Why, But I Would Collapse.

She's Talking About Herself In The Third Person Because The Idea Of Being Who She Is, Of Acknowledging That She Is Herself, Is More Than Her Pride Can Take.

You’ll Be All Right. You’re Strong. I Know You’ll Be Okay Because I Like You And You Can’t Like Someone Who Doesn’t Like Themself. The People I Fear For Are The Ones Who I Don’t Like Because They Hate Themselves So Much They Won’t Let Anyone Else Like Them Either. But I Do Like You. I’ll Miss You. And I Know You’ll Be Okay.

I Am An Emotional Plagiarist, Stealing Other People's Pain, Subsuming It Into My Own Until I Can't Remember Whose It Is Any More.