u/Nabatamb

I’m lying in bed, staring out my bedroom window at the night sky.

My eyes catch on the stars.

The sky is so clear tonight that I can see so many of them, scattered across the darkness, each one glowing quietly in its own little corner of the universe.

And as I stare at them, I start thinking about how strangely similar stars are to us.

If we imagined every human being as a star, some of us would be alone. Some would exist in lines beside one another. Some would be impossibly close, while others would be separated by distances that could never be crossed.

And yet, somehow, we all live beneath the same sky.

I wonder if some stars ever wish they could be closer to another star. If they ever long to touch. To kiss.

And what happens when one star kisses another?

What happens when two stars finally collide?

Scientifically, the answer depends on what kind of stars they are.

Two neutron stars can merge, sending gravitational waves rippling through the universe and creating either a black hole or a more massive neutron star, accompanied by a spectacular explosion called a kilonova.

Two white dwarfs can collide and trigger a Type Ia supernova, an explosion so violent that the stars can be completely destroyed.

And when an ordinary star collides with another star, the larger one may swallow the smaller one, or the two may become one, creating a hotter, enormous star.

It’s strange, isn’t it?

Even the stars have different ways of loving, touching, and destroying one another.

And I find myself wondering…

What kind of stars were you and I?

What did that first kiss beneath the full moon, exactly two years ago, turn us into?

Maybe at first, we thought we were two ordinary stars. Two stars that could touch and simply become one.

But we weren’t.

Our relationship was full of challenges, obstacles, storms. And somehow, that was part of what made it beautiful. We believed we could survive anything. Every distance. Every wound. Every impossible thing that stood between us.

We believed we would always find our way back to each other.

But maybe you were more like a neutron star.

Because the deeper we went, the closer our souls became, the more fiercely our love burned.

It grew brighter.

Hotter.

More powerful.

Until, eventually, it exploded.

And that explosion killed me slowly.

It took me from the bright world I once knew and carried me into a darkness you created somewhere in the middle of our journey.

An explosion that burned everything it touched

my beliefs,

my dreams,

my feelings,

and most of all,

my heart and my soul.

I only wanted us to be two ordinary stars.

I wanted our kiss to bring us together, to make us one, to leave us glowing in the same sky.

But it didn’t happen that way.

Still, somehow, we created memories that I know I will never forget.

Some of them are still so fresh.

Still warm.

Still burning.

Because remembering them still sets my heart on fire.

It has been a year since you left, and yet there have been so many nights when I have found myself thinking about you.

I wonder if you ever hear a song that makes you remember me.

I wonder if, when you close your eyes, you ever see my face.

Do you ever see us?

I wonder if there is another star you love now.

I wonder if looking at the moon still reminds you of our kisses.

I wonder what our relationship made of you.

Did it make you the person you always wanted to become?

Did loving me change you?

Did losing me change you?

And what did you leave behind in me?

Something resembling a writer, perhaps.

A writer with so many things inside her that have gone quiet…

but whose memories are still alive.

Sometimes I think about how much I miss you.

And sometimes, even more painfully,

I realize how much I miss myself.

The person I was before the explosion.

Before our stars collided.

Before I learned that sometimes two people can love each other deeply and still destroy something beautiful between them.

So if your heart ever feels heavy one night, and you find yourself staring at the stars, remember this:

Somewhere beneath this same sky,

there is a star that once missed you terribly.

A star that never wanted to explode.

A star that only wanted to be ordinary.

A star that only wanted to kiss you

and keep glowing beside you.

Ashley the name you gave me

I’m lying in bed, staring out my bedroom window at the night sky.

My eyes catch on the stars.

The sky is so clear tonight that I can see so many of them, scattered across the darkness, each one glowing quietly in its own little corner of the universe.

And as I stare at them, I start thinking about how strangely similar stars are to us.

If we imagined every human being as a star, some of us would be alone. Some would exist in lines beside one another. Some would be impossibly close, while others would be separated by distances that could never be crossed.

And yet, somehow, we all live beneath the same sky.

I wonder if some stars ever wish they could be closer to another star. If they ever long to touch. To kiss.

And what happens when one star kisses another?

What happens when two stars finally collide?

Scientifically, the answer depends on what kind of stars they are.

Two neutron stars can merge, sending gravitational waves rippling through the universe and creating either a black hole or a more massive neutron star, accompanied by a spectacular explosion called a kilonova.

Two white dwarfs can collide and trigger a Type Ia supernova, an explosion so violent that the stars can be completely destroyed.

And when an ordinary star collides with another star, the larger one may swallow the smaller one, or the two may become one, creating a hotter, enormous star.

It’s strange, isn’t it?

Even the stars have different ways of loving, touching, and destroying one another.

And I find myself wondering…

What kind of stars were you and I?

What did that first kiss beneath the full moon, exactly two years ago, turn us into?

Maybe at first, we thought we were two ordinary stars. Two stars that could touch and simply become one.

But we weren’t.

Our relationship was full of challenges, obstacles, storms. And somehow, that was part of what made it beautiful. We believed we could survive anything. Every distance. Every wound. Every impossible thing that stood between us.

We believed we would always find our way back to each other.

But maybe you were more like a neutron star.

Because the deeper we went, the closer our souls became, the more fiercely our love burned.

It grew brighter.

Hotter.

More powerful.

Until, eventually, it exploded.

And that explosion killed me slowly.

It took me from the bright world I once knew and carried me into a darkness you created somewhere in the middle of our journey.

An explosion that burned everything it touched

my beliefs,

my dreams,

my feelings,

and most of all,

my heart and my soul.

I only wanted us to be two ordinary stars.

I wanted our kiss to bring us together, to make us one, to leave us glowing in the same sky.

But it didn’t happen that way.

Still, somehow, we created memories that I know I will never forget.

Some of them are still so fresh.

Still warm.

Still burning.

Because remembering them still sets my heart on fire.

It has been a year since you left, and yet there have been so many nights when I have found myself thinking about you.

I wonder if you ever hear a song that makes you remember me.

I wonder if, when you close your eyes, you ever see my face.

Do you ever see us?

I wonder if there is another star you love now.

I wonder if looking at the moon still reminds you of our kisses.

I wonder what our relationship made of you.

Did it make you the person you always wanted to become?

Did loving me change you?

Did losing me change you?

And what did you leave behind in me?

Something resembling a writer, perhaps.

A writer with so many things inside her that have gone quiet…

but whose memories are still alive.

Sometimes I think about how much I miss you.

And sometimes, even more painfully,

I realize how much I miss myself.

The person I was before the explosion.

Before our stars collided.

Before I learned that sometimes two people can love each other deeply and still destroy something beautiful between them.

So if your heart ever feels heavy one night, and you find yourself staring at the stars, remember this:

Somewhere beneath this same sky,

there is a star that once missed you terribly.

A star that never wanted to explode.

A star that only wanted to be ordinary.

A star that only wanted to kiss you

and keep glowing beside you.

Ashley the name you gave me

I’m lying in bed, staring out my bedroom window at the night sky.

My eyes catch on the stars.

The sky is so clear tonight that I can see so many of them, scattered across the darkness, each one glowing quietly in its own little corner of the universe.

And as I stare at them, I start thinking about how strangely similar stars are to us.

If we imagined every human being as a star, some of us would be alone. Some would exist in lines beside one another. Some would be impossibly close, while others would be separated by distances that could never be crossed.

And yet, somehow, we all live beneath the same sky.

I wonder if some stars ever wish they could be closer to another star. If they ever long to touch. To kiss.

And what happens when one star kisses another?

What happens when two stars finally collide?

Scientifically, the answer depends on what kind of stars they are.

Two neutron stars can merge, sending gravitational waves rippling through the universe and creating either a black hole or a more massive neutron star, accompanied by a spectacular explosion called a kilonova.

Two white dwarfs can collide and trigger a Type Ia supernova, an explosion so violent that the stars can be completely destroyed.

And when an ordinary star collides with another star, the larger one may swallow the smaller one, or the two may become one, creating a hotter, enormous star.

It’s strange, isn’t it?

Even the stars have different ways of loving, touching, and destroying one another.

And I find myself wondering…

What kind of stars were you and I?

What did that first kiss beneath the full moon, exactly two years ago, turn us into?

Maybe at first, we thought we were two ordinary stars. Two stars that could touch and simply become one.

But we weren’t.

Our relationship was full of challenges, obstacles, storms. And somehow, that was part of what made it beautiful. We believed we could survive anything. Every distance. Every wound. Every impossible thing that stood between us.

We believed we would always find our way back to each other.

But maybe you were more like a neutron star.

Because the deeper we went, the closer our souls became, the more fiercely our love burned.

It grew brighter.

Hotter.

More powerful.

Until, eventually, it exploded.

And that explosion killed me slowly.

It took me from the bright world I once knew and carried me into a darkness you created somewhere in the middle of our journey.

An explosion that burned everything it touched—

my beliefs,

my dreams,

my feelings,

and most of all,

my heart and my soul.

I only wanted us to be two ordinary stars.

I wanted our kiss to bring us together, to make us one, to leave us glowing in the same sky.

But it didn’t happen that way.

Still, somehow, we created memories that I know I will never forget.

Some of them are still so fresh.

Still warm.

Still burning.

Because remembering them still sets my heart on fire.

It has been a year since you left, and yet there have been so many nights when I have found myself thinking about you.

I wonder if you ever hear a song that makes you remember me.

I wonder if, when you close your eyes, you ever see my face.

Do you ever see us?

I wonder if there is another star you love now.

I wonder if looking at the moon still reminds you of our kisses.

I wonder what our relationship made of you.

Did it make you the person you always wanted to become?

Did loving me change you?

Did losing me change you?

And what did you leave behind in me?

Something resembling a writer, perhaps.

A writer with so many things inside her that have gone quiet…

but whose memories are still alive.

Sometimes I think about how much I miss you.

And sometimes, even more painfully,

I realize how much I miss myself.

The person I was before the explosion.

Before our stars collided.

Before I learned that sometimes two people can love each other deeply and still destroy something beautiful between them.

So if your heart ever feels heavy one night, and you find yourself staring at the stars, remember this:

Somewhere beneath this same sky,

there is a star that once missed you terribly.

A star that never wanted to explode.

A star that only wanted to be ordinary.

A star that only wanted to kiss you

and keep glowing beside you.

Ashley the name you gave me

I’m lying in bed, staring out my bedroom window at the night sky.

My eyes catch on the stars.

The sky is so clear tonight that I can see so many of them, scattered across the darkness, each one glowing quietly in its own little corner of the universe.

And as I stare at them, I start thinking about how strangely similar stars are to us.

If we imagined every human being as a star, some of us would be alone. Some would exist in lines beside one another. Some would be impossibly close, while others would be separated by distances that could never be crossed.

And yet, somehow, we all live beneath the same sky.

I wonder if some stars ever wish they could be closer to another star. If they ever long to touch. To kiss.

And what happens when one star kisses another?

What happens when two stars finally collide?

Scientifically, the answer depends on what kind of stars they are.

Two neutron stars can merge, sending gravitational waves rippling through the universe and creating either a black hole or a more massive neutron star, accompanied by a spectacular explosion called a kilonova.

Two white dwarfs can collide and trigger a Type Ia supernova, an explosion so violent that the stars can be completely destroyed.

And when an ordinary star collides with another star, the larger one may swallow the smaller one, or the two may become one, creating a hotter, enormous star.

It’s strange, isn’t it?

Even the stars have different ways of loving, touching, and destroying one another.

And I find myself wondering…

What kind of stars were you and I?

What did that first kiss beneath the full moon, exactly two years ago, turn us into?

Maybe at first, we thought we were two ordinary stars. Two stars that could touch and simply become one.

But we weren’t.

Our relationship was full of challenges, obstacles, storms. And somehow, that was part of what made it beautiful. We believed we could survive anything. Every distance. Every wound. Every impossible thing that stood between us.

We believed we would always find our way back to each other.

But maybe you were more like a neutron star.

Because the deeper we went, the closer our souls became, the more fiercely our love burned.

It grew brighter.

Hotter.

More powerful.

Until, eventually, it exploded.

And that explosion killed me slowly.

It took me from the bright world I once knew and carried me into a darkness you created somewhere in the middle of our journey.

An explosion that burned everything it touched—

my beliefs,

my dreams,

my feelings,

and most of all,

my heart and my soul.

I only wanted us to be two ordinary stars.

I wanted our kiss to bring us together, to make us one, to leave us glowing in the same sky.

But it didn’t happen that way.

Still, somehow, we created memories that I know I will never forget.

Some of them are still so fresh.

Still warm.

Still burning.

Because remembering them still sets my heart on fire.

It has been a year since you left, and yet there have been so many nights when I have found myself thinking about you.

I wonder if you ever hear a song that makes you remember me.

I wonder if, when you close your eyes, you ever see my face.

Do you ever see us?

I wonder if there is another star you love now.

I wonder if looking at the moon still reminds you of our kisses.

I wonder what our relationship made of you.

Did it make you the person you always wanted to become?

Did loving me change you?

Did losing me change you?

And what did you leave behind in me?

Something resembling a writer, perhaps.

A writer with so many things inside her that have gone quiet…

but whose memories are still alive.

Sometimes I think about how much I miss you.

And sometimes, even more painfully,

I realize how much I miss myself.

The person I was before the explosion.

Before our stars collided.

Before I learned that sometimes two people can love each other deeply and still destroy something beautiful between them.

So if your heart ever feels heavy one night, and you find yourself staring at the stars, remember this:

Somewhere beneath this same sky,

there is a star that once missed you terribly.

A star that never wanted to explode.

A star that only wanted to be ordinary.

A star that only wanted to kiss you

and keep glowing beside you.

Ashley the name you gave me

It has been exactly one year since the last time I saw you.

One year since the last time I heard your voice, looked into your eyes, touched you, and sat across from you and spoke to you.

A year has passed since all those last times.

And I have spent this entire year thinking of you, with every step I took, every walk I went on, every time I looked up at the sky, every sunrise and every sunset, every song I listened to.

I thought of you every moment.

I thought about the good in you.
The bad in you.
Every little thing about you.

I thought about you so much.

Even when I was traveling, a small part of my mind still belonged to you. I would see the beauty of a new city and think, You would probably love this too.

I would look at a new view and wonder how wonderful it would have been if we were there together, hand in hand, discovering it side by side.

But every time I travel, there is also a kind of peace I deeply love.

My mind becomes so occupied with discovering new places, searching for new views, breathing unfamiliar air, meeting new people, tasting new things, that for a little while, I think of you less.

Still, you were there, even there.

I thought of you while I was sitting on an airplane, watching myself become smaller and farther away from everything I knew.

I thought of you when I was up among the clouds, so close to the sky.

Travel has always made me feel better.

Or maybe it is simply being far away from the city where you live.

New places.
New air.
New faces.

They give my mind somewhere else to go.

Sometimes I feel as though leaving this city sets me free from what I feel for you.

Not because I stop loving you.

Just because, for a little while, I can breathe more easily.

There are no familiar places to remind me of you.

I wish I could leave.

Last night, when I came back, driving along Highway 7 was enough to bring everything back.

All at once.

The memories came rushing in.

Highway 7.
That plaza.

They destroy me in a way I can barely explain.

They bring a lump to my throat.

They fill my eyes with tears.

A whole year has passed, and yet seeing the places where I once stood beside you can still make my heart bleed.

Just like last night.

When I looked up and saw the moon, even it seemed slightly red,
almost blood-colored, as if it were burning.

Just like my heart began to burn after I saw that plaza.

That hotel.

Those places that still carry pieces of us.

I think Highway 7 will hurt me forever.

A year has passed since all those last times.

And I still think of you.

But I don’t know what feelings you have lived through this past year.

I don’t know what journeys you’ve taken.

I don’t know if life has been kind to you.

I don’t know if someone loves you now.

I don’t know if, when you drive along Highway 7, the memories come back to you too.

I don’t know if you ever look at the moon and think of me.

A year has passed.

And I still miss you.

Damn all the last times.

Damn the last time I heard your voice.

The last time I looked at you.

The last time I touched you.

The last time I spoke to you.

Because you never know that something is the last time

until it is already gone.

And then you spend the rest of your life wishing you had known

Ashley the name you gave me

It has been exactly one year since the last time I saw you.

One year since the last time I heard your voice, looked into your eyes, touched you, and sat across from you and spoke to you.

A year has passed since all those last times.

And I have spent this entire year thinking of you, with every step I took, every walk I went on, every time I looked up at the sky, every sunrise and every sunset, every song I listened to.

I thought of you every moment.

I thought about the good in you.
The bad in you.
Every little thing about you.

I thought about you so much.

Even when I was traveling, a small part of my mind still belonged to you. I would see the beauty of a new city and think, You would probably love this too.

I would look at a new view and wonder how wonderful it would have been if we were there together, hand in hand, discovering it side by side.

But every time I travel, there is also a kind of peace I deeply love.

My mind becomes so occupied with discovering new places, searching for new views, breathing unfamiliar air, meeting new people, tasting new things, that for a little while, I think of you less.

Still, you were there, even there.

I thought of you while I was sitting on an airplane, watching myself become smaller and farther away from everything I knew.

I thought of you when I was up among the clouds, so close to the sky.

Travel has always made me feel better.

Or maybe it is simply being far away from the city where you live.

New places.
New air.
New faces.

They give my mind somewhere else to go.

Sometimes I feel as though leaving this city sets me free from what I feel for you.

Not because I stop loving you.

Just because, for a little while, I can breathe more easily.

There are no familiar places to remind me of you.

I wish I could leave.

Last night, when I came back, driving along Highway 7 was enough to bring everything back.

All at once.

The memories came rushing in.

Highway 7.
That plaza.

They destroy me in a way I can barely explain.

They bring a lump to my throat.

They fill my eyes with tears.

A whole year has passed, and yet seeing the places where I once stood beside you can still make my heart bleed.

Just like last night.

When I looked up and saw the moon, even it seemed slightly red,
almost blood-colored, as if it were burning.

Just like my heart began to burn after I saw that plaza.

That hotel.

Those places that still carry pieces of us.

I think Highway 7 will hurt me forever.

A year has passed since all those last times.

And I still think of you.

But I don’t know what feelings you have lived through this past year.

I don’t know what journeys you’ve taken.

I don’t know if life has been kind to you.

I don’t know if someone loves you now.

I don’t know if, when you drive along Highway 7, the memories come back to you too.

I don’t know if you ever look at the moon and think of me.

A year has passed.

And I still miss you.

Damn all the last times.

Damn the last time I heard your voice.

The last time I looked at you.

The last time I touched you.

The last time I spoke to you.

Because you never know that something is the last time

until it is already gone.

And then you spend the rest of your life wishing you had known

Ashley the name you gave me

It has been exactly one year since the last time I saw you.

One year since the last time I heard your voice, looked into your eyes, touched you, and sat across from you and spoke to you.

A year has passed since all those last times.

And I have spent this entire year thinking of you, with every step I took, every walk I went on, every time I looked up at the sky, every sunrise and every sunset, every song I listened to.

I thought of you every moment.

I thought about the good in you.
The bad in you.
Every little thing about you.

I thought about you so much.

Even when I was traveling, a small part of my mind still belonged to you. I would see the beauty of a new city and think, You would probably love this too.

I would look at a new view and wonder how wonderful it would have been if we were there together, hand in hand, discovering it side by side.

But every time I travel, there is also a kind of peace I deeply love.

My mind becomes so occupied with discovering new places, searching for new views, breathing unfamiliar air, meeting new people, tasting new things, that for a little while, I think of you less.

Still, you were there, even there.

I thought of you while I was sitting on an airplane, watching myself become smaller and farther away from everything I knew.

I thought of you when I was up among the clouds, so close to the sky.

Travel has always made me feel better.

Or maybe it is simply being far away from the city where you live.

New places.
New air.
New faces.

They give my mind somewhere else to go.

Sometimes I feel as though leaving this city sets me free from what I feel for you.

Not because I stop loving you.

Just because, for a little while, I can breathe more easily.

There are no familiar places to remind me of you.

I wish I could leave.

Last night, when I came back, driving along Highway 7 was enough to bring everything back.

All at once.

The memories came rushing in.

Highway 7.
That plaza.

They destroy me in a way I can barely explain.

They bring a lump to my throat.

They fill my eyes with tears.

A whole year has passed, and yet seeing the places where I once stood beside you can still make my heart bleed.

Just like last night.

When I looked up and saw the moon, even it seemed slightly red,
almost blood-colored, as if it were burning.

Just like my heart began to burn after I saw that plaza.

That hotel.

Those places that still carry pieces of us.

I think Highway 7 will hurt me forever.

A year has passed since all those last times.

And I still think of you.

But I don’t know what feelings you have lived through this past year.

I don’t know what journeys you’ve taken.

I don’t know if life has been kind to you.

I don’t know if someone loves you now.

I don’t know if, when you drive along Highway 7, the memories come back to you too.

I don’t know if you ever look at the moon and think of me.

A year has passed.

And I still miss you.

Damn all the last times.

Damn the last time I heard your voice.

The last time I looked at you.

The last time I touched you.

The last time I spoke to you.

Because you never know that something is the last time

until it is already gone.

And then you spend the rest of your life wishing you had known

Ashley the name you gave me

These days, wherever I walk, wherever I choose to sit, I find dandelions drifting through the air, light, untethered, free. I watch them every time they arrive and every time they leave.

The truth is, I have loved dandelions since I was a child. There is an old belief that says they always carry news, good news. Maybe that’s why, every time I saw one growing up, a certain light would appear in my eyes.

And now, every time I see them, I can’t help but wonder if they have come to bring me word of you. If perhaps, at last, they know something I don’t.

Especially when they land softly on my hands or my legs.

I let them rest there. I let my skin memorize their weight. Then I whisper my longing to them.

I ask if they know where you are.

If you are happy.

If sadness ever visits you.

If loneliness still finds its way into your heart.

If someone loves you now.

And… if you ever miss me.

Then I close my eyes and blow them gently into the wind, pretending they will carry my message to you, that they can make a journey I never could.

I let the dandelions break the silence that I no longer know how to break myself.

I remember last year.

Even saying *last year* sends a shiver through me. It feels almost impossible that an entire year has passed since the last time I saw you.

It disappeared so quickly.

Yet every single day was painfully slow.

It was a rough year.

I often wonder how it felt for you.

I remember lying beside the pool when a tiny dandelion floated down and landed on my leg. I looked at it, touched it gently, and almost immediately it lifted itself back into the sky.

It felt as though it had only come looking for a kind hand before continuing its journey.

I watched it climb higher and higher until it seemed to disappear toward the moon.

The sky was still bright, and I wasn’t expecting to see the moon at all.

But there it was.

And for me, the moon has always been you.

A bittersweet smile found my lips as I thought of you.

Then something even stranger happened.

As I walked toward the pool’s exit, an elderly man was listening to music on his phone.

It was *our song.*

*Dance Me to the End of Love.*

The song we danced to through happiness and heartbreak alike.

I remember stopping in my tracks.

I couldn’t move.

Within only a few minutes, all these impossible little signs had gathered around me.

I remember thinking…

*Perhaps I’m about to hear from you.*

And I was right.

Days later, after months of silence, you reached out.

Sometimes I wish you hadn’t.

I wish that meeting had never unfolded the way it did.

I wish…

Now another year has passed, and once again, I know nothing about you.

Every dandelion I see carries me back to that impossible afternoon.

Back to my childhood.

Seeing them has become both a joyful nostalgia and a beautiful ache.

Yet despite everything…

I still talk to them.

I tell them about my dreams.

I tell them about you.

I tell them that, inside my mind, I am still watching you.

That in my imagination I still kiss you a thousand times, breathe in your scent, and hold you close.

The dandelions know more about us than anyone ever will.

They have listened to every confession I never had the courage to say aloud.

Sometimes I think my stories have moved their tiny hearts so deeply that they tell the others.

Maybe that’s why they come to me in little groups now, riding the same breeze together.

They are beautiful.

Just like you.

Just as weightless.

Just as playful.

Just as willing to listen.

So if one day a dandelion finds its way to you…

Know that I was the one who set it free.

Know that I whispered your name into the wind before I let it go.

And know that, somewhere beneath the same endless sky…

I am still thinking of you.

Ashley the name you gave me

These days, wherever I walk, wherever I choose to sit, I find dandelions drifting through the air, light, untethered, free. I watch them every time they arrive and every time they leave.

The truth is, I have loved dandelions since I was a child. There is an old belief that says they always carry news, good news. Maybe that’s why, every time I saw one growing up, a certain light would appear in my eyes.

And now, every time I see them, I can’t help but wonder if they have come to bring me word of you. If perhaps, at last, they know something I don’t.

Especially when they land softly on my hands or my legs.

I let them rest there. I let my skin memorize their weight. Then I whisper my longing to them.

I ask if they know where you are.

If you are happy.

If sadness ever visits you.

If loneliness still finds its way into your heart.

If someone loves you now.

And… if you ever miss me.

Then I close my eyes and blow them gently into the wind, pretending they will carry my message to you, that they can make a journey I never could.

I let the dandelions break the silence that I no longer know how to break myself.

I remember last year.

Even saying last year sends a shiver through me. It feels almost impossible that an entire year has passed since the last time I saw you.

It disappeared so quickly.

Yet every single day was painfully slow.

It was a rough year.

I often wonder how it felt for you.

I remember lying beside the pool when a tiny dandelion floated down and landed on my leg. I looked at it, touched it gently, and almost immediately it lifted itself back into the sky.

It felt as though it had only come looking for a kind hand before continuing its journey.

I watched it climb higher and higher until it seemed to disappear toward the moon.

The sky was still bright, and I wasn’t expecting to see the moon at all.

But there it was.

And for me, the moon has always been you.

A bittersweet smile found my lips as I thought of you.

Then something even stranger happened.

As I walked toward the pool’s exit, an elderly man was listening to music on his phone.

It was our song.

Dance Me to the End of Love.

The song we danced to through happiness and heartbreak alike.

I remember stopping in my tracks.

I couldn’t move.

Within only a few minutes, all these impossible little signs had gathered around me.

I remember thinking…

Perhaps I’m about to hear from you.

And I was right.

Days later, after months of silence, you reached out.

Sometimes I wish you hadn’t.

I wish that meeting had never unfolded the way it did.

I wish…

Now another year has passed, and once again, I know nothing about you.

Every dandelion I see carries me back to that impossible afternoon.

Back to my childhood.

Seeing them has become both a joyful nostalgia and a beautiful ache.

Yet despite everything…

I still talk to them.

I tell them about my dreams.

I tell them about you.

I tell them that, inside my mind, I am still watching you.

That in my imagination I still kiss you a thousand times, breathe in your scent, and hold you close.

The dandelions know more about us than anyone ever will.

They have listened to every confession I never had the courage to say aloud.

Sometimes I think my stories have moved their tiny hearts so deeply that they tell the others.

Maybe that’s why they come to me in little groups now, riding the same breeze together.

They are beautiful.

Just like you.

Just as weightless.

Just as playful.

Just as willing to listen.

So if one day a dandelion finds its way to you…

Know that I was the one who set it free.

Know that I whispered your name into the wind before I let it go.

And know that, somewhere beneath the same endless sky…

I am still thinking of you.

Ashley the name you gave me

These days, wherever I walk, wherever I choose to sit, I find dandelions drifting through the air, light, untethered, free. I watch them every time they arrive and every time they leave.

The truth is, I have loved dandelions since I was a child. There is an old belief that says they always carry news, good news. Maybe that’s why, every time I saw one growing up, a certain light would appear in my eyes.

And now, every time I see them, I can’t help but wonder if they have come to bring me word of you. If perhaps, at last, they know something I don’t.

Especially when they land softly on my hands or my legs.

I let them rest there. I let my skin memorize their weight. Then I whisper my longing to them.

I ask if they know where you are.

If you are happy.

If sadness ever visits you.

If loneliness still finds its way into your heart.

If someone loves you now.

And… if you ever miss me.

Then I close my eyes and blow them gently into the wind, pretending they will carry my message to you, that they can make a journey I never could.

I let the dandelions break the silence that I no longer know how to break myself.

I remember last year.

Even saying last year sends a shiver through me. It feels almost impossible that an entire year has passed since the last time I saw you.

It disappeared so quickly.

Yet every single day was painfully slow.

It was a rough year.

I often wonder how it felt for you.

I remember lying beside the pool when a tiny dandelion floated down and landed on my leg. I looked at it, touched it gently, and almost immediately it lifted itself back into the sky.

It felt as though it had only come looking for a kind hand before continuing its journey.

I watched it climb higher and higher until it seemed to disappear toward the moon.

The sky was still bright, and I wasn’t expecting to see the moon at all.

But there it was.

And for me, the moon has always been you.

A bittersweet smile found my lips as I thought of you.

Then something even stranger happened.

As I walked toward the pool’s exit, an elderly man was listening to music on his phone.

It was our song.

Dance Me to the End of Love.

The song we danced to through happiness and heartbreak alike.

I remember stopping in my tracks.

I couldn’t move.

Within only a few minutes, all these impossible little signs had gathered around me.

I remember thinking…

Perhaps I’m about to hear from you.

And I was right.

Days later, after months of silence, you reached out.

Sometimes I wish you hadn’t.

I wish that meeting had never unfolded the way it did.

I wish…

Now another year has passed, and once again, I know nothing about you.

Every dandelion I see carries me back to that impossible afternoon.

Back to my childhood.

Seeing them has become both a joyful nostalgia and a beautiful ache.

Yet despite everything…

I still talk to them.

I tell them about my dreams.

I tell them about you.

I tell them that, inside my mind, I am still watching you.

That in my imagination I still kiss you a thousand times, breathe in your scent, and hold you close.

The dandelions know more about us than anyone ever will.

They have listened to every confession I never had the courage to say aloud.

Sometimes I think my stories have moved their tiny hearts so deeply that they tell the others.

Maybe that’s why they come to me in little groups now, riding the same breeze together.

They are beautiful.

Just like you.

Just as weightless.

Just as playful.

Just as willing to listen.

So if one day a dandelion finds its way to you…

Know that I was the one who set it free.

Know that I whispered your name into the wind before I let it go.

And know that, somewhere beneath the same endless sky…

I am still thinking of you.

Ashley the name you gave me

These days, wherever I walk, wherever I choose to sit, I find dandelions drifting through the air, light, untethered, free. I watch them every time they arrive and every time they leave.

The truth is, I have loved dandelions since I was a child. There is an old belief that says they always carry news, good news. Maybe that’s why, every time I saw one growing up, a certain light would appear in my eyes.

And now, every time I see them, I can’t help but wonder if they have come to bring me word of you. If perhaps, at last, they know something I don’t.

Especially when they land softly on my hands or my legs.

I let them rest there. I let my skin memorize their weight. Then I whisper my longing to them.

I ask if they know where you are.

If you are happy.

If sadness ever visits you.

If loneliness still finds its way into your heart.

If someone loves you now.

And… if you ever miss me.

Then I close my eyes and blow them gently into the wind, pretending they will carry my message to you, that they can make a journey I never could.

I let the dandelions break the silence that I no longer know how to break myself.

I remember last year.

Even saying last year sends a shiver through me. It feels almost impossible that an entire year has passed since the last time I saw you.

It disappeared so quickly.

Yet every single day was painfully slow.

It was a rough year.

I often wonder how it felt for you.

I remember lying beside the pool when a tiny dandelion floated down and landed on my leg. I looked at it, touched it gently, and almost immediately it lifted itself back into the sky.

It felt as though it had only come looking for a kind hand before continuing its journey.

I watched it climb higher and higher until it seemed to disappear toward the moon.

The sky was still bright, and I wasn’t expecting to see the moon at all.

But there it was.

And for me, the moon has always been you.

A bittersweet smile found my lips as I thought of you.

Then something even stranger happened.

As I walked toward the pool’s exit, an elderly man was listening to music on his phone.

It was our song.

Dance Me to the End of Love.

The song we danced to through happiness and heartbreak alike.

I remember stopping in my tracks.

I couldn’t move.

Within only a few minutes, all these impossible little signs had gathered around me.

I remember thinking…

Perhaps I’m about to hear from you.

And I was right.

Days later, after months of silence, you reached out.

Sometimes I wish you hadn’t.

I wish that meeting had never unfolded the way it did.

I wish…

Now another year has passed, and once again, I know nothing about you.

Every dandelion I see carries me back to that impossible afternoon.

Back to my childhood.

Seeing them has become both a joyful nostalgia and a beautiful ache.

Yet despite everything…

I still talk to them.

I tell them about my dreams.

I tell them about you.

I tell them that, inside my mind, I am still watching you.

That in my imagination I still kiss you a thousand times, breathe in your scent, and hold you close.

The dandelions know more about us than anyone ever will.

They have listened to every confession I never had the courage to say aloud.

Sometimes I think my stories have moved their tiny hearts so deeply that they tell the others.

Maybe that’s why they come to me in little groups now, riding the same breeze together.

They are beautiful.

Just like you.

Just as weightless.

Just as playful.

Just as willing to listen.

So if one day a dandelion finds its way to you…

Know that I was the one who set it free.

Know that I whispered your name into the wind before I let it go.

And know that, somewhere beneath the same endless sky…

I am still thinking of you.

Ashley the name you gave me

These days, wherever I walk, wherever I choose to sit, I find dandelions drifting through the air, light, untethered, free. I watch them every time they arrive and every time they leave.

The truth is, I have loved dandelions since I was a child. There is an old belief that says they always carry news, good news. Maybe that’s why, every time I saw one growing up, a certain light would appear in my eyes.

And now, every time I see them, I can’t help but wonder if they have come to bring me word of you. If perhaps, at last, they know something I don’t.

Especially when they land softly on my hands or my legs.

I let them rest there. I let my skin memorize their weight. Then I whisper my longing to them.

I ask if they know where you are.

If you are happy.

If sadness ever visits you.

If loneliness still finds its way into your heart.

If someone loves you now.

And… if you ever miss me.

Then I close my eyes and blow them gently into the wind, pretending they will carry my message to you, that they can make a journey I never could.

I let the dandelions break the silence that I no longer know how to break myself.

I remember last year.

Even saying last year sends a shiver through me. It feels almost impossible that an entire year has passed since the last time I saw you.

It disappeared so quickly.

Yet every single day was painfully slow.

It was a rough year.

I often wonder how it felt for you.

I remember lying beside the pool when a tiny dandelion floated down and landed on my leg. I looked at it, touched it gently, and almost immediately it lifted itself back into the sky.

It felt as though it had only come looking for a kind hand before continuing its journey.

I watched it climb higher and higher until it seemed to disappear toward the moon.

The sky was still bright, and I wasn’t expecting to see the moon at all.

But there it was.

And for me, the moon has always been you.

A bittersweet smile found my lips as I thought of you.

Then something even stranger happened.

As I walked toward the pool’s exit, an elderly man was listening to music on his phone.

It was our song.

Dance Me to the End of Love.

The song we danced to through happiness and heartbreak alike.

I remember stopping in my tracks.

I couldn’t move.

Within only a few minutes, all these impossible little signs had gathered around me.

I remember thinking…

Perhaps I’m about to hear from you.

And I was right.

Days later, after months of silence, you reached out.

Sometimes I wish you hadn’t.

I wish that meeting had never unfolded the way it did.

I wish…

Now another year has passed, and once again, I know nothing about you.

Every dandelion I see carries me back to that impossible afternoon.

Back to my childhood.

Seeing them has become both a joyful nostalgia and a beautiful ache.

Yet despite everything…

I still talk to them.

I tell them about my dreams.

I tell them about you.

I tell them that, inside my mind, I am still watching you.

That in my imagination I still kiss you a thousand times, breathe in your scent, and hold you close.

The dandelions know more about us than anyone ever will.

They have listened to every confession I never had the courage to say aloud.

Sometimes I think my stories have moved their tiny hearts so deeply that they tell the others.

Maybe that’s why they come to me in little groups now, riding the same breeze together.

They are beautiful.

Just like you.

Just as weightless.

Just as playful.

Just as willing to listen.

So if one day a dandelion finds its way to you…

Know that I was the one who set it free.

Know that I whispered your name into the wind before I let it go.

And know that, somewhere beneath the same endless sky…

I am still thinking of you.

Ashley the name you gave me