It's silent now, almost as if the world is at a stand still. God, she was more beautiful than any flower I've seen. She wasn't like others, her depth in her words she poured to me. But all I spoke were shallow sentences filled with boredom.
She hardly looks at me now, she doesn't care for me. I used her, pretending to love her.
Now her smell is the cigarettes that linger on her clothes. She's a mess, and it's my fault.
