What’s WRONG with me, Will? I’m fucking terrified of myself! My love for her is totally platonic, right? Like a brother? Have I ever had the smallest inappropriate feeling about her? — hmm, methinks the lad doth protest too much — and now DREAMS! Calling Dr. Freud! Whoo, don’t bother! Last night! I’m shuddering, typing this — I held her in my arms, pressed her hard against my chest, and covered her mouth with endless kisses as she whispered she loved me; my eyes swam in the drunkenness in hers! God! Is it wrong of me that I still feel so good, feeling that warm, blissful memory inside me again? Lotte! Lotte! — and I am GONE! My senses are all tangled up, for eight days now I haven’t been able to think straight, my eyes are full of tears. I feel terrible all the time, and I feel great all the time. I don’t want anything, don’t need anything. I should… I should just go.