He left me. Gone, without even a glance back in my direction. Irrationally, I blamed myself. Too plain, too young...too human. The first few months were the hardest, and I honestly didn't believe I'd make it through. My heart clenched, my stomach ached; life was at a perpetual standstill. There was no hope, and I painfully thought I'd never move on from this stasis that had enveloped me. Every turn provided another reminder of what was had and what was lost. The high school had become a tomb to the memory of our relationship, with my bedroom window being the key. I missed him-the way he made me feel, made me love, the way he made me just be comfortable in my own skin. But, he left. They all did. The depression was blinding, making me feel as if I was on the brink of losing my mind in the wake of his absence. I had stopped responding to my friends; emails, phone calls...face to face visits. Even the desperate pleas uttered by my mom and my Charlie were just background noise to his memory. Afterall...what could they know. I had experienced death; the death of love. I was now a ghost, and ghosts couldn't comprehend more pain than the pain of death.