unloved

19. V

And one day, years from now, when you're staring into the night, the stars will sing of her. The room will fill up with the sound of all those songs she used to secretly add to your playlist. Maybe then you'll listen to them with your heart in your hands, and feel every word hit your chest. Maybe then you'll realise what she was trying to tell you all this time.

There will be this sound in the moonlight that will remind you of how her eyes widened up when she talked of the Moon. How much she loved to write about it, almost as if she'd been there. Kissed the scars away. And danced on the silver plated floor. And maybe you'll even catch a shadow on the Moon. Of a familiar figure dancing as if the universe belonged to her. And maybe, you'll wonder, it did. Belong to her.

You'll look at your hands and wonder what she saw in them. You'll think of hers and recall how they were the softest things that had ever been. How they never knew when to stop giving.

Maybe that night, the walls will paint themselves only to cover up with her poems. Of her messy handwriting, of tears blurring some words. Maybe you'll realise that her every letter only spelled one name. Yours.

And maybe then it'll hit you.
It was her.
It was always her.