I take slow, careful sip from my steaming hot cup of low-fat cinnamon cappuccino. My red lip stick stains the place form where I took my sip. I look around the small, cozy French Café, and I see couples, newly in love I suppose. I remember what that feels like. A stray tear escape from my brown almond shaped eyes. I quickly wipe it away. My eye lands on the man that I use to love. The man that I wanted to marry and spend the rest of my life with. He walks past me as if I didn’t exist. As if our whole relationship never happened. At least I got to see his face, and at least I know whether or not if I meant something to him. I get up from my seat, and pay for my cappuccino. I wish he knew how much I truly loved him.