Are things going to be okay now? You said that you love me. For the first time in what feels like forever, you told me you love me.

You love me.

You, Gerard Arthur Way, love me.

Me.

You don't know how happy that made me. You haven't told me that in so long. Maybe things can be okay, yeah?

It's sad that it took Bert beating the shit out of me for it to happen, but it doesn't matter. At least it's happening. That's all that matters.

I'm not gonna write much today, because I don't need to. Not when you're still here, and you're sober, and you're still in love with me. So maybe I won't need to write any more.

That would be good, wouldn't it?

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