Sometimes I wonder if begging would bring us somewhere better.
The afternoon sun had shone straight into my eyes, its light blinding. I think of last night, how fine we were; how certain that it'd work, that we'd work. I think of the few nights before that—how you laughed through the phone like we were fine.
We were fine, weren't we?
But it's the present that matters, and our being fine isn't in the present.
I remember you saying you wanted us to be real. I remember saying that I felt the same. Because I wanted it to be real. I wanted us to be real.
I wanted to look into your eyes at the break of dawn and stare as the sunlight touches the edges of your silhouette. I wanted to touch you, your skin on mine, my fingers holding onto every inch of your soul like I'd lose you if I loosened my grip in the slightest. I wanted to kiss you in places nobody could see us and hold your hand under tables, our fingers threaded together. I wanted to give you all that I had—offer my soul in exchange for your love, an us that wouldn't end.
Time and time again, you'd asked me what I saw in you. Would you hate me if I chose to answer that question now instead of the million times you gave me the chance to say it to you?
I saw the moon in you. Bright enough to glow, but never blinding. Beautiful, always sought after. Luna was always something to be admired, her beauty always something to be pointed out. Just like you. Luna always stands out. Just like you.
I write to remember, and I want to remember you. I want your name to be etched onto my mind, carved into the crevices until all I can ever think about is you, you, you. Because I've been in love before, but none of them have ever been you.
They say everything happens for a reason, but I can't find a reason why we'd come to this.
I've told you that I'm stupid in love, and that still holds true. Because I'm stupid enough to still love you, and stupid enough to wait. Stupid enough to keep standing on the sidewalk, waiting until the light turns green even though it never will.
