Dear Diary,

Ugh where do I start. It’s been awhile since I’ve sat with myself, and wrote my feelings down. I’ve been caught up in the most intimate passionate season of my life. I won’t name his name, but the way I just melt into his arms. He made me feel safe, he was my journal. He was calm, and patient. He observed my emotions and understood my reactions. He taught me how to love uncontrollably and unconditionally. I was so infatuated with everything about him, to the point where it become overwhelming. But I always had a feeling. A feeling that was never confirmed, but wouldn’t go away. The secrets started small, but never added up. The lies became less creative, and the distance grew larger. He wasn’t pulling away from us, he was pulling away from himself, I was loosing him and I couldn’t understand why. Finally after a million arguments that took place in my head, a million different conversations, and a million different scenarios. I decided to just ask him what happened. But he didn’t budge. He said he was tired, and stressed. Ultimately he hugged me for so long, I got lost in time. I realized he hasn’t touched me in over a month. He realized it to because he pulled me in closer until we were one. I just remember thinking how lucky I was to get to experience a love like this, regardless if it was dying in front of my eyes. Because I still got to experience it. He finally looked at me, he stared deep into my soul, as I stared back into his. He confessed to me that he got caught up into the wrong crowd a while back, back when he was alone, and lost. A crowd that made him felt like he belonged, a crowd he felt he owed his loyalty and freedom to. He told me that they were manly just taking things from people. People who really wouldn’t miss the things that were missing. But this one day, they went on a job like normal. Assigned to a house in a neighborhood that make you question everything you’ve ever done in life. And ask yourself one question? How the hell are there people out there who can afford a house this nice. While in the midsts of breaking into the safe, he hears this noise coming from the walls. Only having 5 minutes to get out, he just ignored it and continued to hack the safe. Again he hears a noise again, almost sounding like a cry, he stops. He looks over at the wall. Then he hears it one more time, this time loud, and clear. He heard someone yelling for help. Then in runs his friend, mad at him because he hasn’t opened the sage. He rushes him out the house and they leave. He says that that moment has been playing in his head for the past 3 weeks, and he sincerely felt that something was going on in that house. A week ago he went back to the house and seen it had been put up for sell, he broke in and seen everything destroyed. He went upstairs to that room, and the wall that he heard the crying from had been knocked down exposing a small room hidden inside. He looked at me with tears in his eyes. He looked genuinely hurt. He started to cry. I don’t even know how to feel about this situation. I hurt for him, but I’m also finding out that he’s a professional criminal. These past couple of days have been a blur honestly. Me and him haven’t really spoken since that last night that I was with him. My heart wants to look at him as the victim, he could’ve helped whoever was in there. Or could he have? He wasn’t there to rescue, he was there to steal and obtain peoples possessions.