Secrets I Whisper to the Stars at Night

unrequited love at its finest

I am confident that I am over you.
I know it.
I feel it.
I think it.
Books distract me from thinking about you. Words occupy my mind every day. They are my salvation from the wreckage of what we used to be.
I whisper to the stars at night again and again, "It's over."
But still, the memories haunt me at night.
The ghost of your touch creeps,
Little things about you taint,
Your name demands,
My body, mind and eyes.
As if you are always just there,
Waiting at my peripheral.
No matter how I convince my brain to stop thinking, you are just there whenever I glance back. I am like Orpheus, drawn to the spirit of his beloved that when he glanced back, they both die.
But in this case, you live and I die a little.
I woke up in the dream of us. But in some sleepless nights, my eyes close one by one.
I told myself to stop writing about you. But here I am, giving you my words once again. I don't know if writing heals me from the wounds of you or destroying me by making me bleed again.
I don't know what you were thinking by viewing my stories. I would find your name among them, as if you still cared about how my day is.
In the end,
I am still me,
You are you and you're with her.
Once again, I look at the night sky and at the moon
Pleading to the stars to say it with me,
"It's over."
Until those two words are all I can hear.