I loved her through last year. She was incredibly beautiful and became I closer to her more quickly than I have with any other person. After a couple of weeks it got to the point that when we'd go out with friends it would be as though we were the only people in the world. I loved her so much and I always knew she didn't love me (although I hoped that she'd realize it one day). She broke my heart every week and then made me fall back in love with her. I can't count the number of times I walked trembling through the dark streets, feeling like something inside of me was about to explode out of me from every nerve in my body; wanting to howl at the moon; telling myself that whatever doesn't kill me can only make me stronger, but that I'd rather have her than be strong. I told myself that I hated her and that I wanted to kill her, but I always knew that if she asked me to throw myself from the window I'd do it and love doing it more than anything else. I wanted to become great so I had something to renounce when I made myself her slave. I tried to stop loving her, but even then I knew I didn't want to. Every time her hand reached out for me I'd forgive her for everything, knowing that it would cause me unbearable pain. There are an infinite number of excruciating images. Me and her best friend on a mattress on the floor, the quiet moan as she mounts my best friend on the bed, wondering if her friend can tell from my touch that I'm dying inside.