I have lost track of how many cities I have visited. All of them had a different charm, only a few of them memorable, and none of them enough for me to stay at. Not enough to forget you.

Never would I have though that I would one day be reduced to this kind of a woman. One that is dependent on a man to the point that she can't live out their lives after they are gone. But I can justify my actions to some extent. Really. In most love stories, the couple break up and the girl still pines for the boy. What they had was finished.

But we were separated just at our beginning and truthfully, the reality of that is just so heartbreaking that it pains me to think about it.

When you first met me, did you think that I would be one to moan over something already long gone like I am now? Could you see that in me, something that I couldn't even visualize in myself? I'd hope you couldn't. Because if you could, and you got in a relationship with me, and you just left like that? It would mean you're cruel. But you can't be. I can't have spent six months of my life, one-hundred and eighty-one days, four-thousand three-hundred and forty-four hours of my existence on this filthy planet, thinking about a liar. I can't have been deceived by someone like you. If that's true, I think I have given up faith in humanity. That's the effect you have on me, making me do foolish things over nothing.

The things love does.

But I do have to make sure. So the next town I stop at, I talk to some people, and eventually I get my answers. You are quite famous, you know that? The young boy who went to a prestigious university at age 16, and left behind an adoring girlfriend and a supportive family. the genius. the one laying injured in a hospital because of wound the doctor called, "Possible self-inflicted." According to the rumors, when you were found, you were mumbling my name.

How could you? You completely ruined your opportunity, the opportunity I made for you. I could have been the one, and you give it up, just like that? For something as utterly useless as me?

I should be angry. I am, in a way, but I get this strange sense of joy, because this was proof you still love me. That you, at any point in our lives together, actually loved me. We never said those kinds of things to each other. Why amI pleased whe you are laying in a bed, injured? Simply because it's finally proof. It's still disgusting though, selfish as hell.

But I always wanted what I couldnt have, right? It's what makes me cruel, ruthless even. I even had the nerve to accuse you of being a liar. I think I can't be human. No human can be as dirty, vile, and as pitiful as I am.

But then I remember, someone can.