And then he didn't come back
The summers passed, autumns faded, winters roared, and springs bloomed but he's nowhere to be seen.
As she made her way to the shore, she felt the gentle breeze and the embrace of the waves and as she looked up; she saw the moon alone in the vast nothingness of the sky with no star to keep her company.
She remembered him, thinking that maybe the stars are gone for the moon is too broken and is not as illuminated as it was the first time.
Then she remembered the first time he laid eyes on her. His eyes shone so bright, held much admiration in his gaze that she couldn't understand for she is nothing sort of a goddess the moon had blessed.
None of her poems caught the light and the life in his eyes when they first met: of how it looked silver and storm that reflects his turbulent emotions, of how his eyes reached the depths of her soul with his gaze, of how he saw her as his moon.
None of them could ever describe how his eyes demand to be stared at. None of them.
But then, he was a fleeting light like a poem you will only read once for it is blindingly painful that it hurts looking the second time.
And now, she feels a part of her is missing as she search for the stars up above.
And then she fixed her gaze, closing her eyes to the moon: wishing that when he said "It's because of you." He doesn't mean goodbye. Wishing he doesn't mean she's the reason why he's gone. Wishing that dreams aren't supposed to be just dreams for when they become reality, they take away the magical feeling.
A few tears escaped her closed lids and glistened as they bathe on the light of the moon as she thought of the last poem she'll ever write to him.
And then she finally whispered hoping the wind will bring it to him:
" And maybe,
paintings and poetry
couldn't hold a candle
To every emotion
we once had.
You
hold a key
when we
first met.
I should've known
that that key
is not for me
For I
was never
your home. "
Entry # 2 To the Book I Will Never Write
