This is supposed to happen the other way around. People are supposed to meet me, think I’m this horrible, cold-blooded killer, and I let them think that. Until someone with a purer heart than mine comes along and tries to convince everyone else otherwise.

But it’s you with the purer heart than mine. And while I don’t give a singular fuck about what any of them think of me, it’s you who I want to convince I can be good. That I am not who you think I am. That deep down, I crave for unconditional love just like all the rest of the broken souls on this planet. That I need all the godly things that you do.

And then you sit next to me during breakfast at the 141 base, and these thoughts come to the front of my mind, but all I can manage is:

“Hey.”