“I don't really know if she cares or not,” Satoru thought as his fingers gently rubbed the lighter engraved with a pink heart in his left hand. The smell of her in his pillow had long faded away, the traces of her scattered about his apartment only a fleeting reminder of what once was. As his gaze landed on the discarded copy of a book that he knew she never read, he couldn’t help but wonder if she still had the record or the rings he left behind back at her apartment. - there were remains of a relationship, a few items that Satoru had never come back for and would likely never want back. The scent of his cologne, the rings he left in your jewelry box as proof of his existence with you, lingering like an ancient civilization long since vanished. The memory of her lips, his hand as it touched your skin, your laugh, your cries, his sighs. He was probably never coming back, but his imprint and impact seemed permanent. “She’s probably wearing out my rings, taking compliments meant for me while wearing them.” He sighed.