(December 7, 2003)

I would like to believe that you are who you are because of me; that I taught you what you know, that I made you better than you were. But as I sit and think, I realize that you are who you were all along, and the only pupils here are the ones that constrict. I would like to believe that I helped you, that without me you'd be lost, but I cannot ignore the fact that you never really had to be found. I was always the one who clung to things, even though you're the packrat; I'm the one who cannot kill what needs to die, even though you cannot stand to trap a mouse. I would like to believe that you're desolate and weeping, but you are, after all, the one who cannot cry, and you'll never be alone. I can only take solace in the fact that I haven't learned a damn thing, either, and that's as bitter as me.