A flood of tears gushed down my friend's ashen cheeks, staining her gray sweater. Attached to her tired and damp face was her dull brown-black eyes and her voice, usually high and full of warmth, began to crack with emotion, becoming hoarse in tone. I glanced at her bent, shaking form and somehow, a part of me could not feel compassion.

"I never thought this would happen to me... I thought things would last."

I felt disgusted.

"I guess he didn't love me as much as I loved him... No, he doesn't love me."

I almost pitied her.

She saw the signs. I saw the signs. Her other friends saw the signs. We had warned her.

Few shared interests. His parents did not like her. He stopped the calls at night. He stopped visiting, even when given the chance. He stopped texting throughout the day. He stopped trying. He stopped caring. I suppose it was blind optimism that tied her to him in the end.

I refrained from giving her the advice many have given me: "You'll get over it. You will find someone new."

I didn't want to be a hypocrite.

Back then, I was blindly optimistic as well. Now, here I was, listening to her soft sobs and watching my past mistakes unfold in her life. I knew the beginning, middle, and end here. I knew the pain she felt in that moment. I was stuck re-living an experience through her words.

"It's over and I don't understand why. I really loved him. Why did this happen?"