I guess being lost isn't all that terrible. After all, it was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, when I first saw you. In the midst of the blinding snow, was your smile, even brighter than all the white around.

Won't you come back? I miss those hands of yours that warmed my soul, and your gentle eyes as deep as the ocean.

I'd endure even those moments that were not quite pleasing again, for your sake. The time when your slender fingers squeezed painfully tight around my neck, and then you yelled at me till you'd gone purple. When I'd upset you and you stalked off after hurling the new vase at me, the scar it'd left me still lingers on my left cheek.

But I'd do anything, anything at all for you, dear.

Say, if I lose myself again, will you return?

Because you'd promised, above all — that you'd come back to me before long.

But I've tried time and time again for ages, still, you've yet to come home. Perhaps this time fate would be merciful, or coincidence would humour me just for a moment. 

No, there won't be any more prolonging now.

I've realised rather belatedly, my love, insanity was all I had to lose myself to all along — you were never a stranger to it, after all.

Hear that, love? It's the revving of an engine. Must be another one of those pesky workers, here to help me, or so they say. I'd much rather they leave me be. Do you know what they now call this place? 

Dilapidated.

Or worse still, rotting even — I've had the displeasure of overhearing once.

They simply don't understand what I have — what we still have here. Doesn't matter if they attempt to cart me off forcefully once more. I'll wait for you, my love. Don't you worry, we had sworn it after all.

A/N: I feel like I should put a trigger warning. I feel so deranged after writing this. I don't suppose it's healthy, but I rather enjoy attempting to write about insanity. It's oddly refreshing of some sort. Though, I think I'm mostly sane, hopefully.