I keep dreaming about you, about us.
I keep wondering if you’re afraid fo me dying.
We never talked about it.
This bullshit shouldn’t come up. But I’m starting to think it’s real.
The way you move it’s like you’re not even human anymore.
You’re like a fucking angel.
When I die, though…
I look at you and beg you not to be scared.
I hope to God you’re not.
Angels should not to be.