But you have to die. Or be able to die.

[It makes an oblique sort of sense. Mal rubs the side of her face, not in consternation but in thought. There is no good fix for this, for the desire to take risks; she feels it herself. For the desire to die; she has never felt that, but thinks she understands it. It's akin to her instinct for survival in its origins, in its strength.]

I don't want you to live an empty life. If that's what graduating means for you - that you must not be real, or feel real things - then I don't want it for you.