I am the ex. Simply the old high school girlfriend, who spent five years of her life with one boy. Sure, those years are history now. "It was a long time ago," they say. "Get over it," they quip. But to me, it's no joke. My memories are real. My pain and anguish are great. Why? Because I once loved him more than I loved myself.

He died on May 3, 2004. My first love. A shotgun to his head, in the bedroom we once shared. I didn't know anything of it until the following day. After the authorities took their reports. After family and friends had the opportunity to begin the grieving process. I sat unknowing. No one called. No one came to me. An e-mail. All I got was a simple e-mail.

"I heard some bad news, and thought of you. Please give me a call."

In my worst nightmare, I would have never thought that I would hear those words. "He killed himself yesterday. I thought you knew." Had she not known that my daughter was not his, would she have written? Would she have called? Would anyone have even thought of me?

We broke up many years ago. Sadly, it was not mutual. Out of a selfish need for independence, I walked away. We were engaged to be married! We were once in love! But the fire had gone cold within me. I barely knew him anymore. I barely knew myself. But he knew me. Better than I had realized . He knew that, one day, I would think of him. He knew that, one day, my sleep would be filled with happy memories of him. Memories that would cause me pain and remorse.

The sweet taste of our first kiss. His eyes, looking into mine, baring his soul. His breath in my hair as we slept. Our fun. Our fights. Our lives meshing together as one and for the first time feeling whole.

My mind boils over with five years of memories. His prom, when I kept my promise not to sleep with him. And one month later, losing my innocence. His graduation, when I thought that our relationship would soon be over. September 24th, when he asked me to be with him forever. The day he broke my heart. The day I broke my own.

He now haunts my every moment. There is not one day that I feel at peace. Not one day that I do not hear a song, and shed a tear. I feel him watching me. Listening. When I cry, when I laugh, when I write, when I spend time with my family. My husband, my daughters. He is always there, lurking in the darkest corners of my mind. I want him to go. I want him to stay. It is a vicious cycle.

And still, no one thinks of me. I have posted my messages in vain on this makeshift memorial. One on the day I was told, and one on the anniversary of our first becoming a couple. So many years ago...April 13, 1992. He was a senior, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He had a charm all his own, and made me fall in love with him. How I wish that he hadn't, but am so glad that he did.

I try to rationalize it. I tell myself that I outgrew him. I outgrew the "us" that we had become. But am I lying to myself? Had I known what the future would hold...had I only known...would I have been so selfish? Had I only known...would it have changed anything at all? Was I the one who set his destiny?

He was once so carefree. A true ladies man, yet he was mine. He could light up a room with his antics. He would chase away my own melancholy with simply his smile. The charming way he had about him, I could never stay mad...

Even after that fateful night and the words we spoke in anger. Even after the ferocity of his hand on my face. Even now, after taking all the precious memories of my youth with him to the grave... I cannot stay mad at him forever. How I wish I could, and how glad I am that I have not.

But I am the ex. The old high school girlfriend of long ago, who once loved him more than life itself. He leaves behind a wife, a daughter, and a son. A mother, father and sister. They all grieve together. They go to one another for support when their pains are too much to bear. They share a shoulder to mourn on.

And I? I am only the ex.