And how you whispered how you loved me: so softly you could hear a pin drop.

And then you come and dye my dreams red.

What color red?

You know that the ocean always reflects the color of the sky.; it knows no better. Well, there's a moment between night and day when the sun seems that is being devoured by the oceans, and the faint outlines of the stars can be seen in the pinkish, twilight sky. At that time, if you stand on the edge of the shore and stare hard enough into the horizon, your vision will be engulfed by a red sea, an endless pool of crimson reflecting the blood-red of the dying sun. That scarlet paints my dreams. 

You mean, nightmares?

No, dreams. They’re always dreams when he’s there.  

I’m rather tired of this humdrum life; I’ve always wanted to be murdered excitedly. I want my heart to race, to lose my mind slowly as my last breath leaves my lips. To leave without a bang makes my heart ache. The worst fate one can meet in this world to die a death that affects no one at all. How lonely it would be. Personally, I doubt that people are truly afraid of dying in this world. Rather, it is the instinctive terror of being forgotten that grips them; death is manageable if, at the very least, someone remembers you. At least, you’ll be immortal in their thoughts.