Whatever you do. That was it wasn’t it. I’ve broken the things I loved most in my life and I hate it, i’m hated. I didn’t want you to feel like I was stalking your life and hanging on for dear life to something I feel like i’ve ruined. He said he’d heard there was an enemy present, and told the story about the funeral home. She said you were doing well, happy, brought up those glasses. I feel so sick remembering it all. I love you so much, but I know exactly how I got here. You were the one who really made me a work of art, the one who really had vision and all of it, wanted to help me get to a better place. Will I really never see you again? I keep asking myself how and why, where did I get distracted, and I know but I hate it. I don’t like myself at all. These are not things we can heal are they? I missed you. This, this is brutal, it really is hell.