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Wednesday, 2 November, 11.55 p.m.
Somebody pretended to be Jack last night. I know they did. I can barely type these words, as my fingers are shaking so much. Tears blur my vision, and splash the keyboard, like tiny pools of sadness, magnifying the letters.
I don’t know what to do. I feel as though I’m losing my mind. I need Andy more than ever now. If he loved me, he’d be here, wouldn’t he?
He still texts – sometimes. Says he’ll see me in Sweden. But the messages are becoming less frequent. I feel so let down. In fact, I wonder sometimes what is the point of it all.
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