I wrote you a letter and then left before you could read it. Now, I sit by the sea and wonder what you thought of it, and how you'd remember me. It's better this way. You used to tell me you loved me, before you had the chance to think twice. Now, all you can think about is the time that I've stolen, the love that I've wasted, and the mountains I made you climb. It's in your eyes. I promised you the world, that everything would work out. But, at the end of the day, you're right. You're always right. I'm a scab that should've been a scar by now. You might still be able to rekindle the spark in your heart; the spark that I stole and replaced with the emptiness in mine. You deserve the chance to try. Lord knows, I'll never give it to you.