I didn't cry even when I heard you were meeting some rich, decent guy.

I just stared blankly as the warmth you left behind grew colder than the fluorescent light on the ceiling.

My life is stuck like old dust pressed into the floorboards, unable to fly away, just lingering—but you brushed yourself off so cleanly and left.

A bottom-feeder like me couldn't bear to splash mud on your clean shoes, so I thought if I just went out and got into fights, maybe you'd look at me one more time.

Because when I'd come find you, rubbing my scars, you'd look at me with those sorrowful eyes. That was the most expensive thing in my world.

I heard you're wearing a wedding dress today. Someone like me can't even breathe too loud from a distance, fearing I'll stain that dress.

I'll probably rot in this filthy corner like abandoned furniture for the rest of my life, but the deepest, bottom-most part of me still won't react to anyone but you.

Go on and walk into the light. I'll just keep rolling around in this narrow, coffin-like shadow.

That's a lie. Don't go. I'll literally die without you.