Part Two.

Another day, another dollar. That's what they say. This depression is like a hangover, and no amount of money in the world can cure it.

I still can't remember what she looks like. If I ran into her in the street, I'd be afraid I wouldn't recognize her and make myself look like a damn fool. But let's be honest: I'd remember her. Her smile would send me back to those moments quite easily were I lucky enough to see it again.

I sit in this doctor's office. Not sick of the body, but sick of the mind.

I heard she's been through a tough relationship recently. I was sorry to hear that. I really was. Am I wrong for preying on her like this? Glad that she's not in a relationship, glad that she might be vulnerable? I don't think I'm wrong. Nobody else seems to think they're wrong when they do it. Then again, if everybody jumped off a bridge . . .

Someone goes in to see the good ol' doc. I swear I was here before them.

All good things must come to an end, they say. I've even said it to myself as a way to move on. But I don't believe it. Maybe I just don't like the idea of letting it go, maybe I just don't understand it. I think it's just a phrase people say because they're too afraid to hold on. They don't think they can actually acquire eternal sunshine. But I do.

An assistant talks into the phone: “I'm calling on behalf of Dr. Norman's office.” The door opens, and more children walk in.

Am I foolhardy for thinking that? Am I actually more naive than I think? I don't feel so. But then again, the crazy don't know they're crazy. Perhaps if I listen to an old song once more, I'll uncover a nugget I hadn't found before.

There's nothing more to say. I'm being called in now. I just have to push through the children to get there.