“He’s not mine,” she said. “And I don’t think he ever will be.”

“And maybe that’s a good thing because things are never how you imagine and having expectations only ever sets you up for disappointment.”

“But I can’t help but wonder what lying in his arms would be like,” she told the sky, “I can’t help but imagine being close enough to feel his breath on mine and his skin on my skin.”

She closed her eyes and felt the wind run it’s fingers through her hair, and imagined he was beside her.

“He’s going to kill me you know,” she whispered to the moon,“he’s going to commit murder and the worst part is he won’t even know it.”