 It girlsgetcrazy was funny how I girlsgetcrazy found only loneliness and despair in perfection. The girlsgetcrazy thrill of the girlsgetcrazy fantasy , its novelty girlsgetcrazy, soon wore off. All girlsgetcrazy things lose some "intensity girlsgetcrazy" in time. I had done it all a dozen times. It simply girlsgetcrazy got boring; doing all the thinking, the planning, the fantasizing and arranging, that we used to girlsgetcrazy do together. It got girlsgetcrazy to be girlsgetcrazy work. An effort. Having to girlsgetcrazy cue girlsgetcrazy every prompt made me more like a stage director than a lover girlsgetcrazy. And afterwards I missed the warmth of that satisfied cuddle. The simple warmth of her body. A few girlsgetcrazy words or sounds of actual REAL girlsgetcrazy contentment. Most of the time now, she girlsgetcrazy simply stopped when the program did. Or worse went through the predictable motions I girlsgetcrazy had arranged. Or the limited repertoire online of simulated spontaneity.
 I couldn't decide which idea was girlsgetcrazy worse girlsgetcrazy. That she girlsgetcrazy was girlsgetcrazy completely gone or that some girlsgetcrazy small part of girlsgetcrazy her girlsgetcrazy was still trapped in there experiencing the same things I was. If she girlsgetcrazy was in there looking out it was worse than any prolonged death. I knew, I was looking in. In my online shame. In my pain, in my loneliness. Into her robot corpse girlsgetcrazy.
 Yes girlsgetcrazy, the years passed. And the loneliness, and the guilt building inside of me, leaving me more empty than her. But now I girlsgetcrazy had a plan, one girlsgetcrazy to girlsgetcrazy set everything girlsgetcrazy right girlsgetcrazy. One to end my pain. One girlsgetcrazy that would serve irony up on a grand platter. One that would be her unspoken just retribution if girlsgetcrazy that spark still girlsgetcrazy invisibly burned behind those glass eyes.
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