I met her when I was 16.
A common "friend" introduced us.
Did she like me?
Yes, she did.
Did I like her?
No, I didn't like her.
I loved her.
It was passion, love at first sight.
She really drove me crazy.
And I didn't know how to live without her.
But the world didn't want that love.
My parents didn't approve of it, so I had to see her secretly.
And when that became impossible, I didn't know what to do.
I wanted her
I needed her
so when I didn't have her,
things really got out of control.
I wrecked the car,
I broke all the doors and windows in my room,
I almost killed my sister.
Why did I do that?
I had a passion for her,
I went crazy when I didn't have her.
Today I'm 45.
I'm a terminally ill patient in a hospital,
and I know I'm going to die pretty soon.
There's no one around me now:
no family, no friends and of course she's not here now.
Did I tell you her name?
Cocaine.
I owe her my love,
my life,
my destruction and my death.