Why? Why did you do it? Do you enjoy it? This is what you
want? I don't know why I'm writing this letter.. What will
it prove? It wont change anything, right?  I still love you,
my dear sweet murderer. I always did, though you never
believed me. Is that why you did it?   If I wont love you I
wont love anyone else? Well, its your lost, cause I did love
you. I still do...
So how did you do it? Was it a gun? A knife? A rope? Maybe
you pushed me off a cliff? Drowned me in a pool? Hope you
had fun, I know I did, my love.
So all you have now is your guilt. And all I have is the
thought of how stupid you are. How ironic this situation is.
Its all black now.... there's nothing here. I have nothing
but my torturing thoughts. Tears don't work for me anymore.
I cried too much about you, I guess. But I know now. I know
you planned it. You came into my house and you drugged me.
The picture of a white powder melting in my wine keeps
coming back at me. Not even a goodbye kiss, huh?            
   
I wonder how much time you kept it inside dear killer, until
you decided to do it. What took you so long? And why are you
crying now? This is what you wanted. You did this. You
brought it on yourself. But you don't really miss me...
there are many fish in the sea. You'll have more loves.
You'll have more kills.
Its like those two words you told right before you killed
me. Yeah, I heard those words. You didn't want me to know,
but I heard it, my love.  
- No regret. No regret.