I have been here longer than I care to know.

Not that I remember how long I have been here, as each bowl I drink erases the memory of the last. That, I believe, is the reason I am here; an urge to drink of the water from this cool, still pool. An urge to purge that of the old self, so that the new may be forged.

It is nicer than heaven, honestly, to know that everything I was and had been will no longer be; that there is only the uncertainty of the future. I suppose it is excitement for this that causes me to swallow what I assume is bowl after bowl of the cool water, with only the water soaking my clothes being the only clue that I have been here more than once.

And I stand here, drinking of the water, forgetting who I am, and who I was, over and over and over. Because there is one memory that remains. It haunts my mind, a reminder of who I was, preventing me from who I will be.

It is revolting, and vile, and I hate it.

Each time I remember, I hate the memory more, and hate myself even moreso. Of my foolishness, of my deficiencies. It is the stone that weighs me down, that drowns me, pulling me deeper away from the surface.

So I drink, and forget, and remember, and hate, and then drink.

An unending cycle.

If the promise of this pool is better than heaven, this is a punishment worse than hell. I am sure that I have cursed whatever power has put me here to a host of promises of wrath and violence each cycle. Though, each cycle I am certain that I have come to the same conclusion that there is no power that has put me here. There is only myself. So drink I must.

To purge this horrid memory, to rid myself of this plague.

For if I must remember that day I told the waitress "you too" when she said "enjoy your food" a single time more, I will certainly go mad.