I didn't listen to my MP3 player; it didn't seem appropriate. Instead, I listened to the way the rain pattered gently against the umbrella, and the steady thump of my boots as they carried me steadily home.

And I thought, is it my fault? Am I a bad girlfriend? Should I do something to stop this happening?

Some people walked past, and I tilted the umbrella to hide my face. I thought about what I must look like, from high, high up, a small blue dot making my way slowly home.

I thought about all the poems I wrote, and about how they were all for someone who ignored them totally, and I didn't want that to happen to us. I still don't.

The streets are completely deserted. All around me is silence, apart from the thud of my boots and the patter of the rain. The smell of wet tarmac clogs up my nose.

Sometimes, I wonder, what it would be like if this was all over and done with. But there's time. There's both so much and so little time. We've been together for so small a time, yet so long. So long.

I'll keep protecting you, you know. I shrug off my mom's questions and walk upstairs. I sit on my bed. You were here. It doesn't smell of you. I do. I call out to you, in my mind, with my heart, and tell you I love you.

The silence presses all around me. I close my eyes.