I gave it all. I gave it all to them. All I am. All I was. All of me. I offered them my best smiles, my kindest looks, my most supportive words, my sweetest gifts. I couldn’t have done anything better than I did. I became another me for them. The good me. The positive, funny, hyper, sassy me. I liked that part of me. They liked it too. But since I left, silence is my only friend. Not a message, not a word. Just silence. I’m gone for them. I’m a blur. A blur of the past. A memory. They must erase it. They moved on. They needed me to remain in the past to move on to their next party, their next exchange student. I gave it all to my fourteen amazing flatmates. I cared. I asked about their day. I cooked for them. I wrote them a letter. For each of them. I took the time to write them all an individual letter. One that stated what I thanked them for, why they shouldn’t change a bit, how they were perfect to me. I went to bed at 4am that day because I needed to do that for them, for all the love and care they gave me when I was living with them. They don’t realize it. Not a thanks. Not a word. Now I’m wondering why history keeps repeating itself. Why the people I care about keep moving on and forgetting about me. I’m stuck here in this city I hate, I’m afraid of walking in the streets with all these dumbass guys, I’m afraid to tell my annoying freaking loud neighbor to shut the fuck up and learn how to speak French properly, I’m so done. I’m alone. I don’t know anyone here. They all know each other, I feel left out. This whole thing pumps out my energy. I’m worn out. I don’t ask for much. I ask for a little thanks. A little news. Something. A proof that they didn’t forget about me so quickly. And I don’t know what I want to do in life. There are no job opportunities. Nothing for us students, nothing interesting, nothing abroad. Where do I want to go? What do I want to do? I know I’ll never find the « love of my life », this idiot got lost in the process for sure. I don’t know what to hope for anymore. Every time I think of this place over there, I think of his last hug in the night in front of all the bikes by the Christmas lights, downtown. The longest, most sincere hug I ever got. I cried my whole heart out. These arms were a symbol. Through him, I was hugging the whole dorm. I never felt so home, so protected. I wanted to stay here. To tell him and my thirteen other flatmates how much I cared, how I didn’t want to go. But here I am now, in a city I hate in a country of pessimistic people. I might as well join them in their brand new hobbies: depression.