Some people never find love at all, count yourself blessed if it ever happens your way

And the thought of that makes me want to open a vein, experience pain, know I'm alive, despite this living death.

Something stirred beneath my skin, some being inside I'd only suspected existed, demon or angel, I couldn't say.

I wanted to meet the monster. Why go down if you can go up?

Love is like that. I could crush her beneath the weight of confession.

I needed to see, needed to know, needed a whole lot more.

I never actually plan sequels. They demand to be done.