I used to think I know everything that I need to know, and that was a few seconds ago. And now I think the same. Just like you, I wont be able to know everything ever, as much as you learn a lot. And all that I knew once, or know, I wont be able to know later on. For we wont remember everything. In clones, I sustained that feeling of delivering myself away. The sweetness of isolating in a cubicle of dirt. Whatever cringe I can muster up to make of, to say I want to die. In sickness, I find myself a coward, tired, and grateful. Sickness is tiring, and belligerent. Shards of a window of ur house as youre trying to sleep. I'm scared of hell. Life is figured out though. Hasn't it? You've asked about comfort. That is a wrong word to be created. Is it?