And I killed him for what he did to me. I shot him through the heart and let our initials slip past his flesh. He sang like a bird when it pierced him so I drew my hand back and shot another. We had carved these so pointed that it was impossible for him to even touch the wood without yelping in pain. I couldnt feel any sympathy for him though. This was what he deserved, the karma I couldn’t wait for.

Its true that there was a time where I would’ve never done this to him, but things have changed and I want you to know that those feelings are dead even if my obsession with him is not. I still want to see him, but only so i can watch him suffer. I hope to kiss him and taste blood.

So please, dont mistake my yearning to sit on his gravestone for hours as love, especially when i am the one who killed him. Truly, what is hatred if not devotion?