You were like the Sun while I was the Moon. You shone brightly, embracing the world with your warmth, keeping it safe and sound. Whenever you looked into my eyes, yours full of tiny little stars, my heart skipped a beat.

I was the Moon. I kept circling around you, I was always close to you but I could never touch you. I died every single night to let you take over the sky and stay gracefully like the last tree in the middle of the desert.

You were always there, you were always somewhere around me, so how come I could never see you? You were like the cherry blossoms − you were everywhere, people looked at you, admired you but they could never actually see you. Neither did I. Not until the day when I decided to stop in my tracks and appreciate the beauty that was you. Just like that, you carved your name into my skin.

It was spring when we first met. Spring is known to be the season of rebirth, grace, purity and growth. It’s also said to be the start of better times. It was certainly all true in our case, it was the best time of my life. Being with you was like looking at the pitch-black night sky, wishing upon every single shooting star that crossed its palette. It was somehow reassuring because I could see the infinity with you, I could imagine myself growing old while holding your hand and telling our love story to the kids. On the contrary, it was heart-wrenching as well, mortality never seemed so terrifying before. I simply didn't want to imagine a world without your smile that was like the first ray of sunshine in the morning after a devastating storm or your voice that was almost like the bells after a Christmas mass.

If you were one of those stars, I would wish to spend more time with you. I would wish for more time in general because we simply didn't have enough. Our clock was ticking and neither of us could see it. To be precise, I assumed that it wasn't ticking. You had to be the one, everything was already written in the stars. We were meant to be and we were supposed to be together. I knew it but you didn't seem to.

The following year was spent with casual lazy Saturday mornings when we hang out at one of your favourite independent cafés, sipping lattés from each other's mug or sharing our treats with each other; watching movies at your flat, munching away on homemade popcorn and scaring you to death when it was time for a horror movie; going on hikes outside the capital, helping you through rivers and rocks, making sure that you wouldn't slip and holding your hand when your acrophobia hit you hard; cooking together at my place so that you could show off your skills when you went home during holidays to see your parents and giving you late-night driving lessons since you were so eager to learn how to drive and I had already gotten my license, so instead of your father, I was the one who taught you. Spending our first and last Christmas together, keeping our presents as a secret but always trying to glance secretly when I taught that you had just purchased my gift and your bag was also in sight. Decorating your Christmas tree because all your flatmates (and you too) were so small that you couldn't reach the top and you were so clumsy that you fell down the ladder while you were trying to place the decoration on the top, so you called me instead. I was also the one who had to take you to