She never was the best at following the trends.

Once there was a boy who told a girl her eyes were beautiful.
He described the color of them as if they were such perfection, no one could ignore them.
Believing the boy, the girl always told everyone the color of her eyes as he had told her. She became entrapped with her own irises, always becoming excited when she saw what he saw.
Then one day the boy left and never returned.
Now the girl, when she has the confidence to meet her own gaze, wonders how he ever called her eyes beautiful.
"All I see is plain brown," she thinks. "Two pools of dead mud."
Her best feature has been stolen, and her beauty is gone.

Once there was a boy who gave a girl the music of the world.
He shared with her a kind of magic only tunes can carry, giving her the notes to their spontaneity.  He'd play his guitar and she her violin, and together they'd laugh and mess up notes, but be happy because they were writing things no one else could. They were making their own tunes, making their own magic.
Then one day the boy left and never returned.
Now the girl sits alone, missing the sound of his guitar and his songs.
She forgets how to make notes the way they did, forgets her magic, and her violin rusts away.
Her music has become rotted, and her talent is gone.

Once there was a boy who said he loved a girl.
But one day the boy left and never returned.
Now the girl wonders if he ever really meant it.

Once there was a girl who didn't cry.
She used to sleep, and now she walks through the night. She used to dream, but now her dreams have become nightmares.
She used to believe she loved a boy.
Then one day the boy left and never returned.
Now she has an emptiness that no one seems capable of filling. It's a void she can pretend isn't there, one that she wishes were gone.
But in the quiet, when everyone is gone, she wonders.

"Where'd you go?" she asks.

"Somewhere you can't follow," Silence answers.