I thought eight years of my life is a fair trade for a small chapter in your book of love. I thought that I was a big enough part of your narrative. Eight long years of my heart, my body, my soul, my youth, given to you for a third string credit. I honestly thought it was fair for me to have my own career. So I walked away. We didn't stay friends but I smile as you turn the page on our relationship because I mattered for a little while. Turn out, you didn't even afford me a paragraph.​