She wrote her heart in her journal every day. There was a desperate thought, or maybe it was a wish, that with enough marks, her prayers would be heard. Her broken heart, she thought, was screaming to the heavens for him to come back. Then, he did. Like magic. Again. Yet, he was the same and she was different. He was not who she knew, or who she thought she knew. Her mind reels with memories of love poems and letters, wondering who had read them. Was this a joke? I wish, and I wish, and what I get is this? She saw then she was left with a choice – start over or start new. No goodbye was given, and none will be. The last thing she would ever want is to be missed. She is terrified of the letters bearing her name, as she closes her eyes for another night’s “rest”.