One day your travels bring you back knocking on an apartment door. No one answers your 6th, 7th knock and you tell yourself what the hell and turned the knob open. And it opened, surprising yourself that you actually hoped that it would. The room was aged by settled dusts and other stuff that made your nose unconsciously wrinkle. That aside, the room stayed the same as when you left it years ago. You expected it to be empty, but no, everything about her lingers like the shattered glass on the floor. You bend down to pick a shard, inspecting the prism it made against the light, transfixing you to a memory banished quickly by pain. A drop of red blood slid down your finger and you curse, what the fuck! So she did manage to hurt you, somehow.