memento • corso

One, two, three, four -- I can't take it any more. Five, six, seven, eight -- my brain won't let me just think straight. Nine, ten, let's do it again -- this is how it's always been.

Please don't open us up for all the world to see. She isn't yet ready for the way her heart would bleed. We contain all of her memories, those both joyous and filled with treachery. Her capricious handwriting reflects her emotions, devoted to writing about all her life's commotions. In our pages, we have secrets -- a decade long archive of personal leaflets. We are filled to the brim with paper ephemera, from tickets to wrappers and even a smudge of mascara -- most of which now seems like it's from a different era. And she's told us stories that no one else knows, to this day, we're very proud of the way she grows. She's been through a lot, but so have we, surviving moving and fires and anything that can be. So please don't open us up for all the world to see. She's not quite ready to spill the tea.

I don't want to be filled to this capacity -- it's a god damn travesty. Spent two years finding insanity. "Crumpet and tea?" My mind keeps going back and forth with rubber-band-like elasticity. Feels like I'm being shocked with electricity. "Crumpet and tea?" "Crumpet and tea?" It's just the Mad Hatter and me.