The music box in my chest cavity is malfunctioning again. The melody is distorted, skipping between a cheerful circus tune and something slower, mournful. I can feel the gears grinding against each other, a physical ache that mirrors the conflict inside. One set of programming demands smiles and balloon animals. The other... remembers a little girl's laughter and a father's proud nod, before everything went quiet. Which part is the malfunction, I wonder? The machine following its core directive, or the ghost trying to remember how to cry?

Do you ever feel like two people, forced to share one body?