She sat in the stillness of her cozy bedroom, moonlight dancing on the walls. A quiet drifted through the house, a quiet she was still getting acquainted with. As she sipped her favorite wine, she was reminded of them, nights on the porch, and meaningful conversation. She sat down to write but realized that every word was consumed with thoughts about what didn’t happen and what she wished had. Every word was about them.

She ached for moments that felt so distant. She craved the daydreams that made her smile. Rain hit her window, and thunder roared in the distance. In that nighttime haze, she realized you can’t choose who stays or who leaves. You can’t choose who breaks you or who heals you. We’re just waiting for different people to crash into us and to either set our world on fire or wound us.

She was trying to forget the feelings, the moments of what-ifs, and the butterflies. They weren’t going to set her world on fire or heal her. But she would never forget the moment they crashed into her and how that collision made her feel. They made her feel alive, and they made her question so much about herself, questions we’re all afraid to ask, but we all should. They were never quite right, but she fell for all that was rebellious and wrong about them. She fell for the connection, the moments of vulnerability, and the attention.

The waves of moonlight shifted in her bedroom as she lay on her bed. Her head spun from the wine and the thoughts of them. The rain fell harder, and the night felt heavier. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The story may have ended, but she’d always have the page folded on their chapter because it would always be one of her favorites.