dear itch.io creator, I love you. I think so, anyways. You are me, and I am you, in a sense. Or maybe not. In that way I hate you, I suppose, the way I hate myself. But I do love you. I hope you’re alive. If not, I am happy that you even existed in the first place. Not for making this game about me—or was it you?—either. Or, indeed for making this game about you—or perhaps me—if you prefer. At some point everything seems to fade. ‘You’, if there even is one in your rotting shell anymore, loses all sense of things such as preferences. I hope you find them again, in a manner, if you’ve lost them. And I hope one day that whatever you there is, is happy.  I love you.