I stare into the picture frame of life one year ago and I cannot see any truth in what once was, and what now is. The contents of the frame perpetually baffle me as I sense his frozen eyes seeping into my skin and devouring my soul. The naivety I once possessed is long gone along with the nightly tears and daily concerns. All I can think about is my last words to him, "Good. Get some sleep." Is that what people call closure? His heart no longer lingers inside mine, but it does haunt me every now and then. My scarce amount of trust was dumped into his intangible arms without a second thought. Many would find discontent in my scuffling around the past when all is already said and done, but I cannot help my mind from wandering off to the promises he made, the pain I endured, and the lessons I never learned. Trust, became distrust with him. Yet I always made excuses for his inexcusable behavior, and the words he daggered me with. I'm slowly recollecting all of the mistakes I made in falling in love with an disembodied, pain-stricken young man who could only be there in spirit. It was almost as if I loved a ghost. And what exactly brings me to recount every lost promise and every fallen out wish? His ubiquitous presence in my thoughts, the anger he provokes in my emotions. He's still hurting me and he isn't even here to see it, or care. He's moved on to his next victim, most likely telling her everything he told me and the girl before me. He does not tend to vary in his confessions of love. He'll stay on the phone with her all night and tell her that she's the most beautiful, amazing, best girlfriend ever. He will tell her that he cannot live without her, for she is the star in his black sky (yes he told me that). When will they learn that distance is the greatest weakness, not strength? When will he learn to leave the girls alone and be alone as he deserves to be? So stubborn he was. I am not sure what exactly I am searching for with this. Maybe I can't accept the "closure" I thought I had. I do not care what he is doing now, though I feel most of it is out of spite for me leaving him. One million questions lay beside me at night, cramming my brain with endless possibilities, but no concrete answers to ever satisfy my seemingly fixated mind. I am not bitter, nor am I jealous. I do not miss him and I do not miss us. As I stare into the picture frame of one year ago, I'm remorsefully regretted by the decisions I made with him. I will never obtain the answers I desire, but as the tears envelop my cheeks, I wish for all of the memories to flake off of the scrapbook and into oblivion, as if they never existed.