“Say I am sad.”
“Did it help any?”
He knew nothing of it. He was lost. He was not dead. He survived. He was still surviving. He existed; he was not present.
“Thoughtcrime is death,” he muttered. He needed not worry. If thoughtcrime were real death, he would be dead already. But he was alive. At least, he existed. He wished he did not.
“Being unpersonned.” The word struck to him as something. He wished he be unpersponned. “Is that even a word?“
And who will lose? You? No, you won’t. An occasional evening of feeling down is not losing. Neither will I; how does an unperson lose?
Losing is not not-being somewhere. You keep on living afterwards. That’s what it is.