I want him so bad it can blow my mind off. Paul. Sweet man of misery, balladeer, all my hopes and dreams were cast upon his back. Sweet Paul. When he was young, I wasn't born. I said once I would trade everything to be with him - and be his woman, not another side dish in his life.

My sweet everything. Dream come true. Dear Paul.

I dream of him and I think he's with me. I know how to cover that up ­ I am the regular teenager round your corner. But when I am alone, he fills my mind. His dark eyes. His sweet looks. Wish I could run my hand through his hair and whisper nonsense in his ear, wish I could be laid in his arms and stay there, wanting life and refusing death. Wish I was here. In the seventies. If he wasn't married. If I could be there. If I was older and smarter. I wish I knew how.

A friend of mine was into witchcraft. These weird things. She told me, give me a picture of your love and I make him run after you, guaranteed. I told him I needed to go back in time to find him, and she said, no worry. I can get you there. For one night only you can be there. But no more than that. And I said, tomorrow I handle you the picture. And she said, fine.

And on that night, on my dreams, I saw nothing but myself, running scared to his arms. Afraid of what could happen. She was kidding. She was not. She was lying. She was not. Sweet dream of misery. My Paul. My beloved one... I beg him to be in me and make me whole again, but he's gone in the rain. Beloved one. Man I cannot understand. Paul...