I'm sitting on the edge of the bench, tightly hugging my trophy and certificates — shaking, bowed down, and slowly tearing up. He said he'd go. He said he'd find a way. He said he'd watch over me. He said he's my number one supporter. But my battle ended... and I won — *without him.* I thought my poems were enough to keep you. I thought our shared passion for poetry would bind us together. But why does it seem different now? Am I still the same? I stood up and wiped away my tears — not because of the battle I've long prepared for, but because of the person I've longed for many times. Here we go again... I had hope. I had hope in a poet skilled at creating rhymes, but I didn't realize I'd only be a part of his pieces — pieces that have long ceased to have me as their subject. You left.