My name is Ken Ichijouji. Don’t forget it.

I am this person who is here now, the person with the name my mother gave me. But that person is still Ken Ichijouji.

Lately I’ve been very sensitive about this fact of my identity. I would not say that it is the ‘central’ fact of my identity. But it is still, none the less, a fact of my identity. And I’ll have to admit it, a very strong one. A fact that I have very strong emotions about sometimes.

Lately I’ve been having problems with my memories. Problems, in that, I have more of them. I’ll be reminded of things from my past life, just as one would be of anything from one’s past Sometimes these memories are happy, a lot of time they are sad. Sometimes they just are.

I remeber lying in my bunk bed after sam died.

I remember sitting on the steps doing my homework.

I remember being on the case.

I.

Fuck.

Whatever.

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