It’s like I’m infected with a disease. Strong, incurable and fatal.
Matthew. He’s in me, and I can’t seem to be able to push him out. When I’m awake, I think about him, and when I’m asleep, I dream about him. Scarcely a day goes by when he doesn’t cross my mind.
Last night, he was in bed and sick. He seemed to be suffering from something deadly. I sat by his side and his eyes were slowly closing. He had a bad fever and a swollen, red, sweaty face. He couldn’t look at me let alone talk. I reached for his face, cleaned up his forehead with a cloth. I listened to him slowly breathe.
The dream didn’t make sense. It was random, corrupted, random images flashing on and off throughout.
I don’t know what to make of it all.
Felix Eberstark 