You were always alone. You would stay up all night tinkering with random hobbies, watching dumb shows, a certain sadness inside of you. But you could not get out because your life and everyone else’s would be at a certain phase threatened. I always admired your smile, your undertone random acts of frustration , which came out as muttered whispered words. No, you were soft and I could see that. But you secretly loved the thrill, and the gluttony, and you loved that I did too. But you let me in, said you don’t tell people where you live and for a moment I felt special. You all of a sudden stopped calling and texting because I gave a fuck , probably to the point i wasn’t thinking that it was all much of a risk. But I’m not sure if it was a risk because of your profession or your obsession. I guess I’ll never know, because I walked knowing full well I was too crazy and obsessed too.