and were dancing in the rainrain this rain of crimson this raintears and the soul is weepingI remember this poem, It was my favorite of all the ones you wrote. It made me shiver and sent wild images flashing though my brain. And with the idea of crimson rain in mind, i’ll begin this...my emancipation.I do apologize for using it without your permission, but it’s so “right” for this letter...

I always say this will be the last blood I shed for you. That this will be the last tear; the last thought or memory. And day after day I find myself a liar. But I suppose that’s not so different to how you must have felt each time you saw me and told me you loved me.It makes me laugh that now, you cannot do anything about these lines of crimson that mark my body; because you live too far away....