You were my golden sun.

You were my crisp wind, my autumn air.

You made me float on translucent clouds when your gaze hit mine.

I knew we were magic.

The crackle that I felt between my bones had to have been magic.

The way your eyes danced when you looked at me had to have been magic.

Which made it hurt that we lost it in seconds.

Still, I do believe our brief moments of awkward texts trying to figure out if we can salvage

some form of relationship have to be building up to a crescendo.

Some kind of moment where time stands still.

A glacial reckoning, where we find the magic again.

Or else, maybe all those moments where I felt like you were the only boy in the world were just

that.

Moments.

Maybe it was just a childhood crush set to sappy music, and stardust, and instead of being my all

encompassing sun you were my golden moon.

Somebody that I look at with fondness, somebody that I smile at in the streets, but somebody

who was meant to be mine for only the briefest of moments, and was meant to drift away to other

planets shifting tectonic plates to say goodbye one last time.

Somehow, I know we must take the broken pieces of us, lay them out and glue them back into

something new.

Something better.

Because when you have the type of magic that comes from the moon herself, it never goes away.

It just takes a different form