The day after I commited suicide, I met my true love. He couldn't see me of course, but I fell madly in love with the way he walked, the way he would gently touch other people and things around him - almost with a true appriciation of life. He had what I wished I had in life.

So I moved in with him. I watch over him while he sleeps. I can't touch him of course, and he doesn't know I'm here, but sometimes I leave little presents for him, a chocolate here and there, and make sure that he knows that there is someone out there that truly cares for him.

My love for him is so strong that he can even feel it at times, he called out yesterday, asking if someone was there. It warmed my heart so much. I know that when he one day joins me in death, we can truly be together, and he'll see me, watch me straight in my teared-up eyes and tell me he loves me too.

It all got so difficult today. He must've called someone. I suppose they must be excorcists or psychics. They're all dressed in blue. And they're trying to take me away from him. With force, they dragged me out of his home, OUR home, and brought me to a white room and asked me questions. I assume that this is the Afterlife I would've gone to, had I not chosen to stay on with the living. Everyone is dressed in white. They keep telling me lies.

They keep on telling me I'm not dead. They keep on telling me that squatting in a blind man's house is illegal. They keep telling me that I'm crazy. But I know it's not true.

I'm making my way back to the world of the living now, I had to hurt one of the angels dressed in white to steal his key-card. I'm going to my true love, and today he'll be joining me in death.