There isn’t even one photograph of her and I together. Not one moment of any of our moments together captured for all posterity – not the best ones, not the worst. We may as well have never even met.
I fucked everything up from the moment I met her. I deserve the torments of whatever Hell there is for at least sixteen years; if they purify me to the point where I’m worthy of being in her presence again, it would be worth it just to be able to see and speak to her again.