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God. I forgot how much I missed her voice.

I sit beside her, close enough to feel her. I can see the scar under her eye so clearly. Blue ocean eyes, shining like the saddest stars. The one she hated, and the one I loved because it was hers. I stare at it for too long and she sees it.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

Weren’t you worth more than that, Mireya?

She laughs softly, and it hurts. It hurts so much I have to look away. Because I spent months trying to remember the sound of it. Months waking up terrified I was forgetting. Months tracing down whatever was left of us in an empty and vast place where her memories were as sharp as broken glass.

“I missed you,” I say, and the words come out smaller than I intended.

She doesn't answer right away. She looks…sad. Just like when I first saw her on the rooftop that day, crying and smoking with fear written all over her soft and bruised features.

You already wanted to leave then, didn’t you?

When she finally does, her voice is barely above the wind. “I know, I'm sorry.”

Please keep talking to me.

The ocean stretches endlessly below us, the sky is dark, moonlight softly grazing the water. Everything is beautiful in the cruelest possible way. But she… she is the most devastating scenery I’ve ever witnessed.

“I looked for you everywhere,” I admit.

She closes her eyes, shaking her head carefully, “Don't.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll never find what you're looking for.”

I laugh once, it comes out like a broken sound. “I need to, Mireya. I don't know what to do with all the love that still has your name on it."

Something flickers across her face. Guilt. Grief. Love. Maybe all three. I don't know. I just know I never want this moment to end, I want to sit beside her until the stars come out and take us both with them. Where time becomes an option. I want tomorrow, I want next week, I want every stupid conversation we never got to have, I want the rest of our lives. I want to take her away from here.

I want her.

“You should've stayed,” I whisper.

She looks down, and for the first time, she seems impossibly far away. “I know.”

“No,” my voice cracks. “No, you don't.”

How does a soul explain its pain when grieving? Does any of this make sense?

Did it kill me too?

She doesn't argue and I turn toward her completely, “Do you have any idea what it was like?” The words are rushing out now. “Do you know what it did to me?”

Do you know seeing you again is losing you once more ?

Her eyes shine, and I hate that. I hate that she looks sad. I hate that she looks sorry. I hate that she looks like she's already saying goodbye when I haven’t even made her smile yet.

“Come back, please,” I begged as she looked at me with the softest eyes, “Just long enough for me to get used to losing you."

There’s no reply for a long moment.

I’m asking for a dream, for an illusion. All because of love. Because loving her felt like standing before a house still burning and begging desperately to be let inside. And she never did. Now I’m met with the ashes of it all. And I still love her.