I knew a girl whose father left the family when she was at a young age, so growing up all she did was leave others first, only so she wouldn’t experience being left again. I knew a girl who didn’t want to feel anymore and was tired of life, so she allowed others to ruin her because she didn’t want anything left of her to ruin—but perhaps she had nothing to ruin in the first place. I knew a girl who was lovely and lonely, and she only belonged to herself, but it was only because she had no longer had hope in others. I knew a girl who was still in love with someone she was once with, and she masked the pain and truth by being with others—even though she felt nothing with them. I knew a girl who once met someone that changed absolutely everything and when she discovered that he had nothing to give up, she was torn—afterwards, she tried desperately to find pieces of him in everyone she met, knowing it was hopeless. Regardless of all the stories I’ve heard, observed, and were in, the sadness was still the same in each and every one.