"Music, when soft voices die vibrates in the memory."

•°•°•°•°•

To the one from the star,

When you were gone, something in me had shattered. Those queer little pieces of an irreparably broken heart tugging at its own chords; humming a mournful song. Shaking, beating -- yet defeated.

It was a mosaic piece of block now, riddled with feelings inexplicable on my own part. Sometimes I felt love; sometimes anger; and sometimes I felt the defeat seep through my bones.

I felt defeated. Even though I knew I never wanted to fight this war of hearts. You were a star, and you would be gone. Soon. I should've known that.

Despite all of it, I let myself chase something I probably would have never reached. You were a shooting star, and you could run faster than anyone -- carrying yourself far, far away from me.

And yet, I let myself follow you. To every corner of the world you lit up with your smile.
That night, it bothered me when we didn't talk to each other. I'd asked myself, "Are we fighting?" before I fell deep into sleep.

We probably were. You called me a client, not a friend. Should've been a hint enough for me to take a step back, turn around and never look at you the same way again. But, I couldn't. I considered you a friend -- possibly, even more that that. And now looking back, I think I'd already fallen in love with you. Fallen into the depths of an ocean I probably could never have returned back on my own.

Reason why I think I still find myself swimming in my own dreams, sometimes. Gasping for air. Calling for you. Hoping you'd listen.

But you probably haven't ever. Will never.

"Are you alright?" You'd asked, sitting on chair right beside my bed. "You woke up screaming." The night was still young. When I'd looked out of the window, I saw the moon hanging low in the sky. I didn't  realise I'd fallen asleep. And I didn't realise the old dreams were chasing me again.

The same dreams that drove me to the edge. The same dreams that will probably haunt me forever. I wanted to forget them. I wanted to shut my eyes and never wake up. But sleeping forever meant giving those nightmares free reign to haunt me for eternity.

I'd much rather never sleep at all.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I did. But I didn't either. Talking about them made me remember all the gruesome details. The gore. The accident. The death.

And what followed after.

Even today, I try to convince myself that it wasn't my fault. That I couldn't have done anything to save him. It was by mere chance that I even survived in the first place. But the accusations drilled into my heart will never have my mind accept it.

I was at fault. Will always be.

I don't remember you shifting closer. I don't remember staining your shirt with my snot and tears when you held me in your tight embrace.

I only remember the feeling of you. Your warmth that engulfed me. And for a moment I felt...loved?

I'd realised I never wanted to wake from that dream. It was beautiful. Peaceful. And I was falling, falling, falling.

And exactly why I am writing every possible detail down. Lest I forget.

They say if your lover is a writer, you can never die. And you probably ever won't. Because you will be never be forgotten. I will not allow it.

But I have only few who love me. Probably none, actually.

And I will always be a thinning memory. Soon forgotten. Vanished from all minds.

•°•°•°•°•

A/N

So we have hints thrown in here and there haha. 😉 What do you think is happening? Any ideas? Theories? Let me know!

Thank you so much for reading!

~Jenna