She touches your fingerprints . . . She knows your thoughts . . .
Sometimes, when I touch things, words fill my head. Words that feel like thoughts - thoughts that are inside of me . . . but not mine.
I used to think I was crazy. Used to. I'm starting to wonder if there's a reason for all the voices that tangle together in my mind. And if I'm right, then it's not my sanity I'm worried about - it's my life.