May 25, 1944 My phantom spoke to me today. For the first time since he started coming around.
I raged at him, demanding he tell me his name, even going as far as to hold a knife to his throat. I still can’t believe I did that, but that’s what he seems to do
to me.
Make me crazy.
He finally gave in, and I was shocked when he did.
His voice is so deep . . . so alluring. Once he spoke, I had hoped he’d never stop.
I asked him why he kept coming around, watching me.
He confessed his desire for me. His need to have me. I asked for his name, and he gave it.
Ronaldo.
An interesting name, but it suited him perfectly.
He didn’t stay much longer after that. But he did ask for a kiss. I was hesitant, but in the end, I kissed him.
I’m ashamed to admit I hadn’t even considered John at that moment. All I could think about was what his lips would feel like on my own.
My imagination did not do it justice. When he
kissed me, I flew into the stars.
I don’t think I’ve come back down yet.
