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"I love you," you said, "to the moon."

It was almost a whisper, cold as the air at the month of September night, when those words came out from your lips without glancing at my way, even for a second. 

Or two. 

Or four.

Until I cannot seem to count anymore.

And then I prayed to the stars, the ones where you used to align with the etch of your desires and how you wanted it to blink for just the two of us as we sat there at the spot you first kissed me—tracing every unfamiliar inch of intensity I didn't know I have. 

I was praying. 

Hoping that even if it was just for the last time, you will look me in the eye and finish the phrase, and then never again.

Or maybe not. 

Because, maybe we could still give it another try. 

But with the figure of your back, facing me, I knew right then and there you were going to walk away like an ancient love, distant but unforgotten. 

I knew you were going to walk away from the place you called home, without even looking back. 

- csc
10.04.10 | 11:55 p.m.