You ended my story, you ruined my picture, and now I don't know where to go. We were laying in the flowers with the sun on our faces, but now I'm in a permanent winter, and every individual molecule of the ice against stings like a tetanus shot. And the cold is seeping through my skin, injecting itself into my veins, pulsing through my body, and once it reaches my heart, my heart, my heart... I can't even express myself well enough. I have this vision, and I can't put it into words. There's a hole in my chest, and everything that tries to fill me just falls through or is pushed back out. I'm making myself sick. Every chance I get, I am making myself sick. And now I'm finding new vices.

And I love you. And you love me. And I'm sorry that I'm hurting myself. But I don't know what else to do.