*the content on this site is constantly altered or adjusted to better reflect my experience*

"So? Are you done?"

The anxiety I had, and still have, thinking of all the thoughts you may think... You do know that it wasn't cool of you, to yet again to act like nothing much happened, when I remember you calling me names that night. And to think that was the second time we met.

We went from ecstasy to agony, in what feels like a blink of an eye. C'mon face it, it's funny, in a dark kind of way.

All of it is funny, in the same dark kind of way.

You have no idea just how mentally debilitating it all was. Truly distressing. It was hell, I tell you. Pure hell.

It's THE Devil, by the way, not just A Devil.

I used to be soooo afraid of him, soo afraid.

There was this dream I had, where he locked me in a stone castle, somewhere up a hill. Sounds romantic. It wasn't. It was a cold, damp, and sterile kind of castle. He put me in a cold, damp, and sterile kind of room. Every day, he would come to check up on me, and ask me "So? Are you done?". He wouldn't harm me, but only ask me this. Every day. I kept telling him that no, I wasn't done. I held onto that NO every time he asked me that, even if I had no idea what he wanted from me. It didn't matter, because whatever he wanted from me, I couldn't possibly give in to the Devil.

And oh, how angry I was when that lady, from that psychic chatroom, upon hearing of my dreams with the Devil, told me I desired the Devil. I felt very offended, because how dare she suggest, I could desire the epitome of evil?

I told you that I could muster the strength to go to hell over this, as if I wasn't in hell already, as if it would have been a choice with no real consequences. Sure, turning back—maybe committing myself to a mental institution, choosing to frame it as a weird-ass experience, suspended in time and space—might have made my hell a little warmer. Less damp. Less sterile. More socially acceptable. More livable. More comfortable. And more likely to keep me stuck in it for longer. Freedom was the only sane choice. Sweet freedom. 

For a while I wondered which one of us is the key, and which one is the lock, but I am your key, and you, my lock, and I, your lock, and you, my key.

I get it, we had entirely different experiences. We both feared the other, even if for entirely different reasons, but this hurt...

My feelings make you uncomfortable, don't they? They make me feel inadequate. I fantasized about YOU when I was 17 years old, 11 years BEFORE we actually met, and thought to myself then, that you are everything I never knew I wanted. Every time I say that, I feel a little less inadequate. The hilarity of it. Saying the most bonkers of things, makes me feel less inadequate.

Is this too intense for you, boo? Boo hoo hoo.