The wind brushed through my hair as I looked up at you, memorizing every detail of your face—the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheeks, the way your lips curved into that soft, familiar smile.
"I'll miss you," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.
You reached for my hand, threading your fingers through mine. "And I'll think of you, every time I look at the stars."
Tears filled my eyes, and I felt the words rise in my chest—words I'd been holding back for so long.
"I love you," I breathed, the confession escaping me like a sigh. "I always have."
For a moment, you said nothing, and I braced myself for the silence that would follow. But then you smiled—a smile so full of light it stole the air from my lungs.
"I know," you said softly, lifting my hand to your lips. "I love you, too."
The stars watched us then, as they always had—silent witnesses to a love so gentle, so fleeting, it felt like a dream. And when you finally pulled me into your arms, I closed my eyes and let myself believe that this moment was forever.
Because even if you were leaving, even if our paths were destined to part, this—this—was love.
And love, oh, it's you. It's always been you.
In the years that followed, I would return to that hill, beneath the stars embroidered in the sky, and remember you. You became a beautiful memory, a part of me I could never lose.
And whenever I looked up at the stars, I would whisper the same words to the night:
"Always love, love, love."