3 :Strength:
Strength.
That was what he was to me. I was weak and he was strong. That was why I loved him. It was a faulty sort of love based on what I wanted for myself and what he symbolized, but at least it was not hatred or jealousy. Perhaps it is now, now that I know who and what he is. But when he was with me, when it was only him and me, I was happy.
Don't ask me why I fell for him. It was a mistake that I would never do again. How would I know that was not what he seemed? I should have assumed so, for none of us are what we say we are. I say I'm pretty. But I don't really think I'm so attractive, even with pink hair. If I were, wouldn't he stay with me? Wouldn't he love me?
It took me a while before I finally gave up on him. I was always lost in the dream that he would come back. But he never would—that was not him. Sometimes, though, when I look at him, I see a glint of sadness. Maybe he does miss me. Oh, Cyborg.