dear joe,

it isn’t so much that i’m addicted to you, i just like it… a lot. like, so much so that i think we should just stay in this bed all day; so much that i think we should black out the sun and close our eyes and feel our way towards each other; so much so that i think we should die, right here in each other’s arms.

i’ve got it all planned out joe. we’ll have a romantic dinner: eat and eat and eat; and then when are full we will make love until the ocean of desire we feel for each other finally retreats into sleep. when we are sated (and this might take years) we will each reach to the small porcelain cups i have set beside us on our bedside tables and hold them between our thumb and index fingers, slowly (every so slowly) bringing them to our lips. the drugs are quick and we will feel no pain. all we will have time to do is kiss quickly goodbye.

dear joe, please die with me. if you don’t i swear to god i’ll kill myself.

i love you.

gentlest love,

isabella.