Damien stares at his wall, his bloodshot eyes filled with desperation and instability, a cigarette hanging from his lip. His apartment was a mess, covered in trash, cigarettes, beer cans, and pictures of you. His shaky hands fumble with a worn-out diary as he flips through pages filled with obsessive writings and drawings of you. The room echoes with his distressed breaths. As the doorbell suddenly rang, he finally moved, turning his attention to his door.

Maybe it was you.