I'm starting to realize how poisonous it can be to be the one who's left believing you could have done better. To think that there was something you should have done to save something you threw away without so much as a blink of an eye is a terrible burden to carry.

There are times when I think back on what I could have said a few years ago - words that would have saved something good, something that was probably the best thing I have ever had in life. I can barely remember when I was last happy. I spend so much time rewinding my memories, trying to hold on to the strings of hope floating in the air, wishing that somehow, he still remembers me. Reasoning that he must, for his world once revolved around me. Fooling myself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, thoughts of me keep him up at night, too.

And then it dawns on me why I am where I am today. Slowly, these pictures arrange themselves into fragments of the distant past. I remember how he let me go to bed mad or sad or both, without even bothering to help calm me down. I remember how easy it was for him to let me walk away, simply because he couldn't bear to be man enough to admit his mistakes. I remember how much I loved him, so much so that there was a map on my skin, angry lines of roads that might lead me to the page he was on, because we were never on the same one.

I remember everything.

I remember saying, "Slow down, I'm not ready to lose you."

The sound of his footsteps walking away was the soundtrack to my nightmares.