He looks just like you.

I'm sure you've heard that.

I can't let him fail. If he fails, then you fail. I don't know how I know, but I do. Just like I don't know how I feel, if I don't have a heart.

But I do.

I can't let him know what I'm doing. He'd stop me. Just like you would. I couldn't stop you then; you won't stop me now.

This fear isn't real. I keep telling myself that. But I am no less afraid.

I light my own funeral pyre.

Ashes.

Ashes from a dying flame. Ashes of me.

He looks just like you when he's sad.

Am I dying? How can I die if I don't have a heart to stop beating?

I'm cold. So cold. I'd forgotten what it felt like.

Ashes.

I wish I had a heart. Then my love would be real. Then I could explain this pain in my chest. Knowing it isn't real makes it hurt even more.

I wish I could see you one more time.

Ashes.

If I close my eyes, it feels like you're standing right next to me. I don't want to open them. I don't want to lose this feeling.

Even if it isn't real.