She would have come and gone faster than any. This small town would have never been good enough for her. She was a city girl. This was a small town. Sure she may have grown up here, and broken almost every boy’s heart here, but she never really fit in here. She had long blonde hair that was never braided. Her boots were never dirty, and her hands were always soft. She liked to play “Princess” when we were little. I was never her prince. She broke 6 hearts by age 10. She never broke mine. She had her first kiss at age 11. It wasn’t with me. Her first school dance, she took my friend. She broke 23 hearts by age 16. She never broke mine. Age 17 she was ready to leave, but I wouldn’t let her. And then she died. Only I know she’s dead. Everyone else thinks she ran away. Now she’s all mine. It wasn’t a natural death. I killed her. But she’ll never break my heart.