I hear her whisper “I miss you”. He is her love, he is her everything. And my envy ravishes in the ache I take, because you are not mine as he is to her, because I can’t part with those words as easily.

She looks at him as if it were the first time she’s seen the moon. And I don’t even dare to touch my desire to take a glance at your stance, though my need is so pure the moon may wipe away its own tears. 

She says she misses his smiles and my heart crumbles because your laugh still rings with an eco so loud, that it reaches infinity and loses itself on the way back home.

When she touches him my eyes disappear in the waves of lust that lures my tears into oblivion. 

The moment they say goodbye, she starts to relish on the future that’s written with ink on the heart of a standing giant. And I pain with a hope that burns as relentlessly as the sun, because you… You are not written in my future.