To think that I actually cried for you. It all seems such a waste of precious water, sacred matter, enchanted emotions spilled on unfruitful soil, minerals forlorn. What use is nurturing, replenishing oneself for another? All I got was another hollowed out entrapment. How was I to know my story was just a mere sentence in your lifelong novel? A sentence I had hoped would never end, enlightened by each comma you added. Oh dear how foolish I was. I didn’t see it coming. Yesterday. You put down your pen for the last time and ended it all with a period. I’ve never felt more like a question mark in my whole entire life.