It's like, when I was with you my mind was a hardwood floor. Like each cortex and chemical and neuron was an individual floorboard; well cut, planed smooth and inset tightly with the others around it to create a solid, sturdy, supportive whole.

Now that you've cast me aside, now that you're with her (and why can't I stop picturing you with her?), the boards are gapped, knotted, warped, weak planks. They squeak when trod upon, stand gauchely out, and are so loose that other things, like confidence and optimism and self-worth, may be concealed beneath them like some demented time capsule.