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1 / 17 / 1865
I'm deprived of her touch. It's been a month. She clouds my every thought. Her curly brown hair and her chocolate doe eyes. Her delicious laugh and her compelling smile. Her insane urge to drive me insane with every small glance. The blood smells like her. I'm addicted to it. I'm addicted to her. I was addicted to her.
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2 / 14 / 1865
Happy day of love. It's not happy. I'm not happy. I'm not with my love. She's not even within the living and she has me held captive. I hope she's found peace. I hope she feels a bliss. I hope she's happy.
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4 / 11 / 1865
It's her birthday. Some vampire I can't remember the name of told me it so I would have something about her to hold onto. I wish she wouldn't have. I want my memory of her to slip through my fingers. I can't withstand the pain of going day by day without her. I reply too heavily on the blood. It smells like her, reminds me of her. I can't say it tastes like her. I never got to taste her. She wanted the moment to be special. She knew we shouldn't, even when she was moments away from death. I wish we would've.
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