Rain poured down upon him. Nostalgia. He didn't quite let him feel it. He thought it didn't suit him.

Don't conceal the truth

Love is a beautiful pain. You devour it until it devours you and turns you into ashes.

It is over.

It was all a well-planned game.

Please.

Why is everything always a game to you? Do you trust me?

What was it-?

Until it devores you and turns you into ashes.

Can you ever stop thinking too much?

I set the w-

Bye.

But it could- you could.

I CAN'T! I can't do it.

Your afraid.

Was it all my delusions? It can't be. At least at some point it was-

Almost love, she whispered.

It was a blur of memory. Like someone was extracting those memories out of his mind. While most people opined, he was not in possession of feelings, he let them have the pleasure of assuming so. While in fact, he felt everything. Perhaps too deeply. So deeply that he ends up hurting himself.