You were the best actress on Broadway but never quite good at hiding your emotions.
You walked out of the theater with all the confidence in the world, but then came those rare moments when you weren't sure of yourself.
I could feel that your heart belonged to someone else.
No one should have known how beautiful you were when you cried in my arms.
I started doing what I do now: taking deep breaths, going for walks, and humming the song you loved in my head.
It helped for a little while.
Now, nothing can help me.
If someone were to ask her where she went wrong, she would respond that she didn't put in enough effort.
At the very least, she could admit that.
No one cries over something as dull as a breakup anymore.
And yet, I still dream of you coming home.
From this place, the only thing visible is the sky.
How many of those who made it here ever found their way back?