I really don't want to die, love. But I forget myself more than I remember the crimson shudder lately. Enough.
Sorry.
Cheesy word, I know, but I don't feel anything other than sheer sorrow. Just so you know it's sincere.
Maybe one day, one unblest day, you'll recall what could've been. With all my heart, whatever left of it, I hope that day never comes.
Tell your sister, even as a mere stranger to her, I loved her as my other half.
May death provide me with what little peace I desired.
May death.