I met her back when I was 17. I just moved then, everything was new to me, the transition period of being from the province to the capital city was a difficult time. Back then I was given a scholarship to a university for literature. I had to leave my parents behind and start anew in a place foreign to me.

I entered college and there I met her, she was in my section, when she entered all eyes were on her, she has this y innocence aura in her that I can't help but be drawn into. We started out as friends, and finally after a year and a couple of months she noticed me. I courted her for two months before she said yes and became my girl.
 
I told her I love her with everything I've got, and she told me I am important to her but I didn't mind, I thought she was just having a hard time because of her past relationships. I didn't mind not hearing the words "I love you" from her. I didn't mind when she told me she has things to do and she can't show up at our dates. I didn't mind her ditching me for her friends last minute. And I didn't mind that she was distant most of the time.
 
I love her, and because I do, I didn't mind losing myself in the process. I forgot to think about my own wellbeing because I've always thought of hers. 
"Is she fine?"
"Is she doing alright?"
"Where is she?"
"What is she doing?"
All those questions went unanswered as she didn't even answered my calls nor replied to my texts.
"Is she happy?" Maybe she was, when I thought of that question now a days the only answer I come up with is yes, she is happy while she was with me because she knew I was head over heels for her and she can use me however she wants, she had me wrapped around her little finger for so long she must've thought I was a total fool. 

I like her , I adore her , I love her...I did all those only to know in the end that it was a mistake , I feel terrible. Allow me to say why I love her, wait, why I loved her. I loved her because she made me feel new and different feelings, good ones. She may not have an idea of how grateful I was but I'm pretty sure she never will. She was lovely yet cruel in my eyes. I was serious as with her but she wasn't. her, but it felt nice to live in a delusion that she loved me. I commend her stories but she at making them, her stories that were lies, I found out, . 

Let me start on why I hate her, I hate her for never being there, I want to know why but at the same time I don't want to because her words pointed out that I shouldn't believe her but I'm blind. I hate her for lying to me the most, what's wrong with her? It's not like I still care but maybe I still do, well one day, I won't care. I won't blame her for everything , I'll blame myself too on why I'm feeling this way. I loved her and I hate her but I will forgive her. I hope that she won't do this to other people.

For so long I believed her antiques, I thought what we were was real, what we had was real but I was mistaken. All she thought of me was a toy she can play with. When she first went in to my apartment she didn't mind the bugs lurking around the corners, she didn't mind that it was a studio apartment too small for the two of us, she stayed but she didn't notice that the only companions I've got are the pictures of my family and the books lying around the small space I call home. She used to ask me if she's beautiful, and I used to tell her that no matter what she wears, whether she puts on make up or not, that I don't care, even if she starts to get wrinkles, she'll always be beautiful in my eyes because I love her, and that is all that matters. 

For so long she lied to me about who she really was, for so long she acted like an angel, so pure yet she became so dangerous as I started figuring out about her secrets. Little by little, one by one, she started unraveling the demon that resides her angelic body, she was menacing, she was grievous.

I held on to the little piece of hope that one day she'll love me the same way I love her, that someday, she'll return the feelings I felt for her. For so long I cried myself to sleep thinking what is wrong with me. Asking myself every night why am I not enough for her to be happy. But these days I ask myself again. "Am I the one with the problem?" And I realize something, I wasn't the one with the problem, in fact I always had been the solution. Areum, she was the problem all these time, she always has been. Nothing's wrong with me, but something surely is wrong with her. 

And now, I am lying on my bed thinking of her again, I still feel the pain inside my chest, the pain she inflicted upon me when she left. Without a proper word of goodbye she left, and all we had became a memory. What did we have for that matter anyway? I was the only one who thought what we had was real, I treated her properly and she treated me like trash.

When I fell I thought no one would be there to catch me, to help me up and I remembered what one of my friends back in the province used to tell me.
"It's better to have a scraped up, wounded knee, rather than a broken heart." 

And for the first time in my life, I thought he was right. I shouldn't have trusted her with everything I've got because I don't have anything left for myself, I was lost and I felt like I was falling from the top floor of a twenty something floor building. And just when I thought no one would catch me, I saw my parents and friends, with all their glory and help I picked myself up.

And with every piece of me I kept intact, I started writing. I spent a lot of nights awake thinking of things to write, reminiscing the painful past I shared with Areum. Everyday right after school I'd go straight home, do school works, review for a while and when I'm done I go straight to writing. I spent a whole lot of paper perfecting every verse. I write and then erase again, I write and then erase everything again, and then the process continues until I made up my mind that I am satisfied with what I wrote. 

For most of the poems I wrote she was my inspiration, her beauty, her personality that I thought I knew, my love for her, what I felt for her, everything was about her. And up until she left me everything I wrote was still about her. And now I made up my mind, this will be the last poem I'll be writing for her.

And I am done hiding the pain, I am done keeping this to myself. And for the first time in a long time. I went out and recited my poem, and she was there watching. She has a smirk that I so badly wanted to slap off her face. She was with another man I so badly wanted to curse for being a fool just like me. And for the last time I looked at her with the love in my eyes like I used to look at her before because once I started my poem every emotion was wiped off her face as it was replaced with humiliation and embarrassment because even without me mentioning her name, she knows all too well the poem is about her and now it's my turn to have that smirk and look at her, now without the love. I looked at her like she disgusts every part of me, she is someone I regret loving, and someone I regret falling for. But she is still the person that made me stronger because without her, I might have not wrote this poem, this poem is the last I'll write about her.

I was delusional, I was blind, but now I am wide awake, I am not clouded with the thought of loving you, so this is farewell. This is the last of my heart and this is for you.

"This is the last poem I'll ever write for you. No, wait. This is the last poem I'll ever write about you." I began reciting.