These people you see on the internet. You look in their eyes, even in a picture, even if that picture isn't a selfie. Doesn't even matter if they're dead or alive, if you know, you can still read them. And you know what I see? They welcomed it. That moment when they died, either inside or outside, they knew it was going to happen and they were glad it did.

Not at first, nobody does, but right there in the last instant, it was an unmistakable relief. They were afraid. But then they saw for the very first time how easy it was to just let go. And they saw in that last second, what they were. That you, me, everyone, everything, this whole big drama, it was never anything but a mess of assumption and learned helplessness.

And you could just let it go. You didn't have to hold on so tight, and you never did. What's the point? To realize that all your life, all your love, all your hate, all your memory, all your pain, it was all the same thing. It was all the same dream, a dream that you had inside a locked room. A dream about being a real person.

But we aren't. You aren't. Neither am I. Neither is she. And we never will be.