I missed you." She whispers sounding nervous, her hand clutching my jacket sleeve. I turn to face her. And for a slight second I'm memorized by her beauty, by her light, until I remember why she is not mine. "You missed me?" I struggle not to show my anger, to contain my sneer. "You didn't miss me, Grace. You miss who I was to you." Her hand falls from my sleeve. I try not wince, instead I smirk, "What happened? He got tired of you, or was he replaced by someone else? Are you on the lookout for a new toy? Isn't that what I was to you?" Her face falls and the look in her eyes peirces my heart. She looked pained. How could I still care for her? Pic credits to owner.