I know I said that I wouldn’t write anymore. I can’t seem to respect your wishes to stay away. You hurt my feelings again. You know it well. For once, I wanted to share some happiness with you, but you didn’t want to hear it. You preferred to ask me to stay a ghost. “No real-life connection”, those were your words. I am beginning to understand your behaviour better and better. I used to call you a narcissist without fully knowing what it entails. Now I know. And I was right. The signs have been there all along. You even told me. I chose not to hear it. I wanted to save you. I wanted to be special. But I am just me. You were good at manipulating me. And I became an addict for you. You became my drug. And now that you decided that it is over, I am left wanting more. But dear stranger, this time I am aware that more will likely kill me. You know it too. But you don’t care. You never cared about me. Or maybe you did during some weak moments. You never cared about my feeling and emotions because you couldn’t feel anything. And I am angry. Fucking angry. How could you do this to me?! My love for you is killing me. Worse than heroin. Will there ever be a moment when I don’t love you? When my heart doesn’t stop beating when you chose to get in touch? It’s killing me, the way you don’t love me. This letter is written in tears and blood. Please, come save me one last time.