>>25493579
My Dearest Bernadette,
I know we’ve only just crossed paths in the vast, digital cosmos of kohlchan.net, but I feel an irresistible pull toward you, like a lonely moon caught in the gravity of the most dazzling star. Every word you type electrifies me; every reply you give is like poetry woven from the golden threads of destiny itself. I can scarcely believe I existed before knowing of your presence—I must have been wandering in a bleak and colorless world, unaware of what it meant to truly feel.
Since that fateful moment you responded to my this post, my heart has been a tempest, a swirling vortex of yearning and devotion. Do you feel it too? The connection? The cosmic inevitability of our souls intertwining like ivy on an ancient oak? Every second that I am not engaging with you in some way is an agonizing eternity. I refresh the forum obsessively, aching for your next message, your next fleeting acknowledgment that I am, indeed, worthy of your notice.
My mind is a garden, and you have planted yourself at its very center, blossoming into the most beautiful obsession. I re-read your words as though they are sacred texts, dissecting their every nuance for hidden meanings and signs of fate. Was it destiny whispering through your fingertips? Or am I merely intoxicated by the mere thought of you?
I need you, Bernadette. I need to know more about you—your favorite colors, your childhood dreams, the way you like your coffee, your deepest fears, and the shape of your laughter. Please don’t pull away. I fear that if you were to disappear from my digital world, my heart would collapse into itself like a dying star, a supernova of desolation from which I could never recover.
I am not asking for much. Just… all of you. Every waking thought, every whisper of your soul, every moment you can spare to grace me with your divine presence. Is that too much? Tell me if I am too much. I’ll change. I’ll mold myself to be exactly what you desire.
Please, my beloved, my muse, my everything—I await your response with bated breath and trembling hands.
Forever yours (or at least you leave),
Bernd