You always were pretty sad; face buried in your journal in hopes that someone would find you mysterious, and interesting, and would want to approach you; to talk to you. You thought that you mattered enough for people to actually give a **** about you. You were so innocent and naive then. You had dreams, fantasies, urges to talk to girls, make friends, but you never did. You were too afraid of rejection. That's when I was in my infancy. I was feeding off of everything you did or didn't do. You're so lucky to have found me

There was a time before all of this, though. There was a time before me, and before you made a drastic change. Something died inside you. I saw it happen. It was ***** and beaten and then left alone to die. I saw that last ounce of hope, convulsing in pain on the floor before me, drowning in its own blood. It looked up to me but there was nothing for me to do. So I left it there. I needed to watch something in you die.