I speak of things I do not know. I always have, I've always pretended that I've experienced things and felt things that I couldn't possibly begin to understand. Somehow, I think my extreme version of empathy empowered me to touch the edges of these massive memories—and sometimes I wonder who in the world I stole these from. Who had a life like this? Who is out there, feeling their soul sucked away from them by a reaper like me, so I can be inspired? I wonder who sacrifices their identity so I can have an awareness of the world around me.