Sometimes you will forget. Sometimes, in the lucky times, you will forget yourself. You will forget where you come from. You will forget that you do not deserve to be loved, because the sins of your father and mother and their fathers and mothers are so overwhelming, so manifold, so ingrained, that you could crucify yourself and it would make no difference at all. What is done cannot be undone, and reinvention is a myth embraced by those who choose not to see. You are forever marked. Your veins blue in your pale skin will forever betray you. You can only love when you forget that you exist, and when you remember, things fall apart.