You were a star, a super nova, that exploded into my life. I like to pretend that I had some kind of say in the matter. But I didn't. Had you not come back to ask me again, had I said no a second time, we still would have met again someday. I know it. Because in those few seconds, or was it years, between when you left and when you returned, I felt empty, broken, incomplete. We were meant to be. We were meant to have the time we had. You were a star that exploded into my life, and the aftershock is still affecting me. I still see colours when I close my eyes. I still hear ringing in the silence of my mind. My skin is still alive with tingling nerves. And it still hurts when I wake up every morning and realize that I'm incomplete again, alone amid a thousands stars that will never, not even for a second, make me feel the way you did.