(no subject)
The blood on this scarf... this single photograph of a baby crying in the street, this... tennis shoe. They're all I have left of a shattered life, and all I can do is ask the same question over and over.
... Who am I?
((Naoto is now your long-lost something-or-other AKA no matter how insane it is, she'll remember whatever her supposed relation to you is.))
... Who am I?
((Naoto is now your long-lost something-or-other AKA no matter how insane it is, she'll remember whatever her supposed relation to you is.))