And then it was gone. Like a spark of hope in the dead of the darkest midnight. Gone like everything I had become. And even if it wasn't much, I had been something. Something wasn't good enough I guess. I suppose Georgia was something else. To move away from me, how could you? But you didn't have a choice. Be a good boy and follow your mother. Good boy. Now have a treat. Now go meet that new Georgian girl. Good boy. Now go slaughter your girlfriend's heart with a two by four. Aww, you good boy. Go play now, go play boy. He woulda been like a pitbull or something with aggression and fury. Something like he was. Good boy. Now go fetch the two by four, so we can start a fire.

This is in the fiction section, right?

Anything can be fiction. Even if it's based on a true story.

I hate true stories.

They're all pathetic and sad.

Who needs 'em?

Oh right, this is all truth.

I thought I'd just trick yah with the whole, FICTION STORY HERE thing.

Didn't really work that well.

So by now, I'm a carcass on the grounds of Georgia. Bleeding out my guts, and whispering my final, 'I love yous' to him. I'm disgusting. I full-heartedly disgust myself. Then everyone hands me band-aids and neosporin and tells me that I'll be okay, that I didn't need him. I did. I do. And I will. My little middle-school drama story. Disgusting.

His mom or whatever, I understand, decided that her long time highschooler boyfriend was so much better than this town. This town, that was filled with preteen drug addicts, this town, with innumerable pizza shops, this town, with me. He spent thousands on her, and she was in heaven.

That was the story, he'd said.

He said, "I guess that's love."

There I was. Staring at my too-long nails. I looked up, deep brunette eyebrows raised. I thought he had asked my best friend, is she a good kisser? She stared my way, shifted, and muttered, I don't know. He stood, took me down the aisle of the library, and sighed. His sigh was like he had heaved the weight of the world onto his shoulders.

"I'm Moving."

Well that was a little different to what I was expecting.

"No way." I said, shaking my head.

He went on, and I was astounded, like a three year old watching their parents kiss. I hugged him, and didn't let go. For the life of me, I wouldn't let go. How could I?

He asks me out, takes me down the library aisle, then tells me he's moving to Georgia. I hate Georgia.

He loved me, he loves me, I loved him, I love him.

He's gone. And all I have are memories.

Memories count for something, though.

Memories.