She was a small-town girl; the kind that lived in the same place forever. And I was the exact same -- just a guy. But we didn't start talking till the day after she got shot. I always noticed her; but she never noticed me. She was a good girl. Didn't disobey anybody, didn't do anything dangerous, nothing like that. ...
Four girls --- one guy. Each devastatingly in love, and each with a diary to write their thoughts in. Diaries that I have right here. Want to read them? Don't worry. Secrets are always spoken.
The average widowed person will tell you they lost their soulmate. But most won't say that they're the one that killed them.