I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

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Of all the creatures, only we know how to kill ourselves. Only we would even think of laying down to die. Are we smarter or cursed.

I don’t know the answer to this one, but for some reason it makes me think of birds that kill themselves flying into windows. Glass seems like such a dirty trick we’ve pulled on birds.