who are you.

hello.

they're your favorite words, are they?

his notebook is already filled by you. words by heart. sketches by memory. emotions chained by soul, our soul entwined by the stars. dance with me. he once said. maybe thrice, hundredth time? hand offered for yours. his gaze longed yours until the moon clashes with the sun. but it's different now. romance is dead.

you'll remember at some point, you will always be. same ending, nothing changed. it was all the same. but why is he different? so unfair, and he didn't even know why. it was a rare experience to feel, to think of and question. but why question it when he's already there, been there, too many times. remembered it all too well.

how cold the air was. his rough disposition. your wide-eyed gaze. autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place. arm to arm in the middle of the night dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light. and we'll be lost somewhat. maybe by asking for too much. maybe it's all the same just different time where you'll exist again just to break him like a promise without even doing anything just yet.

our memories, our feelings are formed to something like a stake. the moment you remember what's us is the moment you die. to come back and leave. over and over again. a perpetual reincarnation forcing you to live to always reunite with him and fall inlove and die in his arms. to see you just to leave you just so you could live.

and to stand there by your form lying there asleep on the velvet chaise and pretend like he never care, like he don't know you, like all of this is the first time, like the longing in his gaze is nothing but deception.

"i don't know why," he trails off, a bittersweet smile crawling to his lips. "can't i just love you like this..."