I leafed through your crimson-stained pages, hoping for something different from what you had given me at the funeral of my former self. I only remembered all the times this paper had cut me, how these words had shaped me, how these periods and commas likely brought an end to old convictions, both before and after your arrival. After finishing a book I've read countless times, I realized I must fill it, even if it's with my tears and blood, whether with you or not. —Mv