I'm perfectly aware that this is kind of sad, but it's still hard to let go of it. I first acquired this comic book in high school, not long after the movie came out. I was a babygoth, and at the time I thought it was so beautiful and so deep.
It's a very worn copy because I loaned it to several friends whose parents didn't let them buy stuff like that. I'd had to get a ride to the nearest city to get it in the first place, visiting my first Friendly Neighborhood Comics Shop. When I went overseas, I wrapped it in a plastic cover to protect it from humidity (and from the additional wear of even more friends who wanted to borrow it). I've owned this comic half my life, carried it halfway around the world, met good friends via fanfiction I wrote for it.
But I hadn't read it in at least five of those years, and when I opened it up, I remembered why. What was once poetic is now... somewhat less so. I'm not sure if that's the fault of my maturity, my cynicism, or simply the fact that it's not the 90s anymore. It doesn't really matter.
So off the book goes, and hopefully some new babygoth will enjoy it.