Tomorrow I'd go to school to see you; I only had a mind for melancholy and romance, and no room for myself. This was me today, and perhaps tomorrow I'd switch for the organic, unplanned me or-

She'd switch for nobody, and she'd abandon the idea of "I", because she'd no longer understand what it meant to refer to herself, nor did she have enough thumbs to condense her being into that mysterious letter that everyone else seemed to use without conflict.

It disowned itself, ashamed of synthetic sense of self, its fabricated empathy.

Temporarily, until it wakes from its nightly slumber and tastes the sugar of the words, "Good morning". She'll find some spirit to fill her shell and deem herself human.