She came to my house a wreck: most likely drunk, probably on something. She was stumbling over her words, and I couldn't stand to see her like this. But really, I missed her so much, I let her in. I got her cleaned up and gave her some water. We laid down together, and all I could do was stare at the ceiling, trying to find words that would be appropriate to say to your drunk ex-lover. I told myself, "What the hell do you have to lose? She's already gone."

I asked her, "Do you think we had a chance? Were we really in love?"

She replied slowly, taking a drag of her cigarette, "Love makes you weak: it makes you vulnerable, and then it crushes you when you least expect it. You become heartbroken, and suddenly nostalgia is your best friend, distorting memories and making you think it was better than it really was. Your head is filled with what ifs, and you live with that hanging over your shoulder every day."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Taking in every word she said, it felt as if there were knives in my stomach.

"Is that how I made you feel?"

" Baby, I had that same mentality before you were even a thought in my brain."

I shivered at the nickname she used, but I knew she meant absolutely nothing by it.

Hesitantly, I said, "So why'd you even try with us?"

Choking on her words a bit, she replied,

"Well, I was hoping I'd be wrong"