I have to make a great effort to look and sound alive, even if I'm sure I'm not dead yet. I try to convince myself from within my brain that I belong, that this is my day and age and so it is right to be here. But I know it is not. So I just wait for another century or two to pass, and I know it will go just like the many ones before them, without leaving any sort of trace except for stories. And for this same reason I just feel like there is nothing you can tell me or show me that will sound new or exciting.

...

...

But...

I am also mortified, to feel like this with you here. And it is not that I forget about you, it is that I forget you are still so young, so full of life and virtue. It is the last thing that keeps me active, pushing you into life, into everything I know you must not miss. Because even if later it all seems dull or repetitive you must go through all of it, and I don't assure it will be pretty, or fair, or good, I can only promise it will be worthy.

And after that, there is so much we have to talk about, so much left for me to share with you. Even if at times we seem to disagree, or you are frustrated by my lack emotion, and your anxieties seem tiresome to me, we are in this together.

It is because of your sudden changes and epiphanies that this fatigue and waiting is bearable, because the fact that you and I can coexist seems like one of those oddities that are simply too great to miss. It will all be alright, and this infinite load on my shoulders seems that can be lifted just because even after all this time, it still amazes me greatly that we are the same person.