It isn't the first time I've been smashed into a hundred thousand little fragments... And it most definitely will not be the last... But no matter how many times I'm shattered, no matter how deeply I'm cut as I pick them up, no matter how many times it collapses when it seems I'm almost done... Somehow... somehow I piece them back together again...
No two forms will ever be the same... the present me will always be different from the past me... The pieces rearrange themselves... in patterns never to be repeated...
And yet... and yet I can't help but feel that I lose parts of myself as the process goes on... fragments lost and gone forever...
The void grows... The gaps those pieces leave behind grow ever more obvious...
Will I be lost, one day, I wonder... Will I decay, wear away, and lose so much that eventually... eventually I no longer am myself? This emptiness I feel... the gaps that remain...
I...
I'm afraid of losing myself...
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