If he told me that we were over, that it was through, he never wanted to see me again, I would be fine with that.

If he told me that we'd grown apart, that he was seeing someone else, he didn't think this was working out, I'd be okay.

If he never called me back, said that he had some things to work out, slept with my best friend, I wouldn't shed a tear.

But he said he loved me. Wanted to be with me forever. Would give the world to me. Didn't need anything but me.

And I said no. I said I didn't think this was working out, that I never wanted to see him again, and I never called him back.

I see him everywhere, in everyone. Every hand. Every face. A stranger smiles and I've traveled back two years in time.

I know I made the right decision. He made me cry more than any other person I've ever met. He made me feel small and insignificant, unimportant and wasted.

He was the first man who ever showed me any affection. The first man who ever told me he loved me, said I was beautiful.

But he said those things to his girlfriend too. They talked about their future, what they would name their children. We talked about not getting caught.

And I knew what I was doing but I was so happy to be with someone like him that I didn't care. I didn't think about consequences, didn't think about what his girlfriend would say.

I lost so much to him. There's a part of me that's missing because of what he did to me, what I did to myself.

It's a guilty conscious. It's a lost love. It's a highschool sweetheart. It's a first kiss, first heartbreak, first everything. They're the things that make us all human and the things which make us feel like we're not.

Life is ironic that way.