[unrelated to previous writings]

The lonliness hit me like a brick wall as I stepped out of the shower. It was a long shower, and in the back of my mind I knew he would be waiting. Of course he wasn't. I didn't know I was expecting him until he wasn't there. I stand staring at my steamed up reflection in the mirror, my sudden tears mingling with the water still dripping from my hair. He's been gone for a month now. Emmylou Harris croons to a lover through my stereo whilst I have none. I know I should take his ring off my finger. Maybe he wants to give it to somebody else now. But it's all I have left. Memories, the smoke of burnt photographs, and a ring. Smoke. Vanishing like the steam on my mirror. As it clears I see myself in stark detail and wonder which flaw was the final straw for him. Perhaps the scar from a nose-ring long since removed. We were getting married next week. I was going to wear a white dress, and make-up. I feel like Miss Havisham, eternally dwelling on lost hopes. One day I'll turn into a bitter man-hater just like her. Don't we all have such great expectations. And how we are disappointed.