Only The Stars Know

All That's Left

A sigh escaped my lips when I remembered the times I saw her sitting alone under a tree. Her feet were swinging back and forth—she looked like a kid from a distance. She was always like that, sitting alone as if the world around her didn't exist. She lifts her head from time to time, obviously looking for someone—waiting.

Right, she was always waiting for me. I knew from how her eyes lit up when they met mine. I knew because she would jump out of her seat as I approached. I knew from the smile on her face that didn't exist before she saw me. She was waiting for me, and I was glad.

There was no one around. Sadie liked it that way. I walked toward our spot. The bench under the trees. We chose that place because all her favorite slow-burn romances had couples sitting under a sycamore tree—it was hard to find sycamore trees in our country, so we had to settle for just a tree.

She loved books, and I loved her. So, ever since we were young, I tried hard to look for places similar to the ones in the books she read. I read all her favorite romance novels and used her favorite love gestures just so she could roll on her bed for me as well.

"I met all your classmates today, even the ones you didn't like. You won't like to hear this, but... they're all talking about you," I said as I gripped the paper and journal.

Sadie and I went to the same school when we were younger, but after her parents divorced, she moved to her grandmother's house and transferred to a different school in high school.

"I really don't like it when people talk about me. But I guess it can't be helped. You might've already heard things about me that you never knew."

"They're talking about versions of you that I didn't know. They all seem to regret something. Some were even wishing they had realized sooner. I thought I knew you better than anyone, but everyone seemed to have seen it coming. Everyone except me."

She would always tell me how her day went. I didn't know she left out some of it.

"I'm sorry, Daniel.”

"I knew you were timid and quiet around most people. But you always smiled when we were together, so I thought I knew the real you. But now that they're talking about everything that could've led to today, I wondered if I really knew you. I wondered if it was really me who knew you," I continued.

"If you ever question your place in my life, you should know that I hid away from everyone, but I ran to you."

"I don't understand. . . why do I know all your dreams? All your silly thoughts? All your lame jokes and all the things that you love? But I didn't know the burden that resided with them in your mind."

Sadie shared some of her problems with me, but she always acted tough, like it didn't bother her. But other people said she would often look half-dead as if she was dragging her feet out of bed. They said Sadie always kept to herself. She wouldn't smile and only spoke when necessary.

They said her eyes looked empty, and she was too distant. They tried to approach her, but she wasn't very welcoming.

I would've agreed if they only described her as shy or timid or a girl who awkwardly smiles because she's nervous. But I got a little pissed that they said she looked half-dead. Why the hell would they say that? They shouldn't have said that.

The Sadie I knew was different. Her eyes smile when her lips do. She talks a lot about her favorite books. She even skips when she walks.

It was as if they were describing a complete stranger to me, and I hated it. That wasn't her—that can't be her. I gazed back at her letter and resumed reading it.