-From the perspective of a girl-

If you look closely at my heart, you'll see the scars from the day you left.

You disappeared without saying goodbye and all I have left of you are the memories and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke. I still remember the way they dangled lazily from your lips, the way you rarely smoked them but also were rarely seen without one pursed between the pink of your lips. The same lips that kissed me with passion and desire in the dead of night and the same ones that weaved and whispered stories of lives lived in grandeur and extravagant ballrooms, filled with stunning woman in gowns and men in tailored suits.

Stories of the life you promised me.

But then you were gone, without so much as a word, as if you had used them all up in the tales you told yourself, and I guess I can't blame you because deep down, I always knew you were meant to roam free, and live your life in solidarity and spontaneity. I watched you grow restless here, spending your nights alone in your room with your books and papers and pots of spilled ink. At nights I would press my ear against your locked door, and if I listened hard enough I could hear you whisper to the stars. I watched as the light in your eyes dimmed and the lines on your face become deeper and deeper each day.

And even though I know you had your reasons for leaving, I'll never forgive you, because the day you left, my heart bled with sorrow and my eyes cried sweet tears. You made my veins run with longing and melancholy drip down my wrists. And every time I laugh, the scars on my heart ache because of you.