I see you with her and think of how it used to be me. And though I let you go, the love I have for you always remains. Why? Why can't I hear a song without remembering how we claimed it as ours? Why can't I seem to hear your name without thinking of us? Why can't I force myself to throw away every damn thing you bought me? Why can't I see your face without coming close to crying? I guess that's how this stage of "love" goes. But it seems like I’m only hurting myself. Here I am, confined to a room, painted white with no sense of emotion, no liveliness. You can't come close to imagining my pain. I doubt you even want to. And yes, I let you go for reasons beyond your knowledge. But I wonder if you think of me as much as I think of you. Does your heart pain when you hear my name? See my face? Or do you simply not care at all? When I see you with her, I think of how it used to be me, and how it'll never be me again. . . .