I remember those nights, the ones where we would stay up late, just talking and joking around. We often laughed about everything. Socially speaking, we were the same – two people caught in the same struggle, trying to make sense of our place in the world.
There were nights when we’d lie under the stars, I gave you the name of a star in my favorite constellation, I said, “I am Orion, and you are the brightest star in my constellation, Rigel.” When we pointing out constellations and naming the planets we could see. From Saturn to Mars, we felt like we’d seen everything. Those moments were beautiful, it was our own little world, a universe where anything was possible. Yet, despite the beauty of those nights, there was always a lingering feeling that something was off.
We were two worlds apart, orbiting in our own paths, destined to cross but never truly align. I thought that if I allowed myself to drift, I’d eventually find my way back to you, back to the love we once had. But you said, “Distance brings fondness,” as if the space between us would somehow make our hearts grow fonder. Guess not with us. Highlighting that as time goes by we will grow further apart.
Looking back, the only mistake we didn’t make was run. We stayed, even when staying felt like the hardest thing to do. We fought for something that was already lost. But sometimes i think, “Love isn’t always enough to keep two people together, right?” Because sometimes, no matter how much you want it, you can’t force the stars to align when they’ve already died.
In the end, it’s not about the mistakes we made or the things we said. It’s about understanding that sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, you have to let them go and I’ve come to realize that trying to keep us alive was like trying to hold onto a ghost. We have to accept that some stars, no matter how bright they once shone, have burned out. And that’s okay. Because in their dying light, they remind us of the beauty that was, and the hope that, someday, we’ll find a new star to guide us.
