I love him. I love his heart. He, like so many people in this world, has been beaten down and forced to harden his shell. He strangles his emotions and locks them under key, and how am I, me, supposed to fix that? I'm the same way. I drift so emptily through my life because of uncontrollable strife and I... I just don't know how to regain a sense of purpose, feel some motivation, muster the ability to have some sort of elation. My pen used to bleed for me but now my skin is what's bleeding and I'm just so hurt and unhappy with the life that I'm hardly leading. I'm not a painter and I can't turn this ruby red blood into a painting, but I can write about it, record it, instead of under the pressure fainting. I'll do my best to stand strongly for him, for if we don't have each other, we have nothing. Maybe we can help each other blossom again, and be as healthy and pure and whole and perfect as we once were. I imagine it's possible, just difficult, to survive this; but a future with him is one I don't wish to miss.