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I'm cold. No, I don't feel cold. I'm just cold-hearted. He gave me everything. He saved my life multiple times. And I kept using him; he was being manipulated, but it didn't matter. He's so blinded by the idea of genuinely loving me that he couldn't see how dead I was. I don't feel anything anymore. I was cheating ‒ not physically, but emotionally. I still love him, but I no longer desire him. I imagine myself with another person ‒ someone who could sweep me off my feet. And in my head, I giggle. And I guess, my heart flutters every time this phantom, this imaginary Adonis, attends to me. This thrill that he couldn't give me and I couldn't share with him is eating me up inside. It always turns to sadness, then guilt. And then I lock my emotions in a chest, bury them, so I could sleep better, but I won't. I'm exhausted by the time I wake up, yet this shit replays itself every now and then because, I guess, I have to feel something sometimes. Right?