Blue Moon

I never imagined things would turn out like this between us. We used to be so good together. But somewhere along the way, we lost that magic. I guess we were too scared of the darkness, too scared of what we might find if we really looked at ourselves and what we had become.

"You know," I said one night, staring at the ceiling, "it feels like we've been running away from each other for a while now."

You didn’t say anything. Just that quiet nod, that same expression you always had when you didn’t want to talk about something. And then, one day, you just drove away. Far, far away from everything we had built together. Brick by brick, it all just crumbled, until nothing was left but the pain of losing you.

I remember the moment you left as if it was yesterday. My eyes were glued to yours, both of us ignoring the rattling sound beneath our feet, warning us that everything was about to collapse. And now here I am, sleeping alone, after four full years of us pretending we were okay, when deep down, we both knew we were done.

"I never wanted to admit it," I whispered to myself, staring at the empty side of the bed where you used to sleep. "But I think I just lost the one person who truly mattered to me."

It feels strange, thinking about how we were born so differently. You, with your fiery June spirit, and me, the cold January baby. Maybe that was always our fate—destined to meet a little too soon, under the wrong circumstances, on the wrong blue moon.

"You know what hurts the most?" I asked the silence around me. "You were always so good. So good that it drove me crazy. But in the end, I realized you cared more about being good in general than being good to me."

I couldn't keep up, couldn't measure up to this idea of perfection you had. I thought we were partners in everything, but you washed your hands of any ownership in the mess we made. And now, four full laps around the sun, we’re no closer to fixing it. Maybe it was always written in the stars that we’d meet a little too soon, before either of us was really ready.

"I guess I’ll always wonder," I said, staring out the window at the night sky, "what would’ve happened if we met at a different time. Maybe I'll give you a call when I turn 32, just to see how you’re doing. Maybe you’ll answer and say, 'Who knew?'"

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything we lost. "But until then, I hope you find what you're looking for. Because for me, it would've been you. It should’ve been you."