She loved you.
She was yours.
You had her.
But now, she’s gone.
Isn’t it tragic?
You’re her favorite book. Your life is her favorite story. She’s learning a lot from you. Because she keeps on re-reading you. Turning back every pages of you. Highlighting all those important details in you. It’s okay with her to sleep late just because she wanted to know more about you. She’s in love with the title, and that’s your name. She’s in love with the cover and the whole story inside the book in her hand.
You’re her favorite poem. She wants to “show don’t tell” her feelings for you. Her love for you is as deep and as mysterious as her poem.
You’re her masterpiece. Heaven knows how proud she is with her work of art. Every hand stroke tells a story and the color shows how beautiful life is. She’s your artist and you’re her art. She wants to show you to the world with her name and her signature to tell them you’re hers.
Your voice is her favorite music. She never gets tired of listening to your happiest down to the saddest part of your story. Your laughter is one of the reasons why her heart flutters. And every song you sing is the song she’ll never forget.
But her favorite book is lost. Her favorite poem is forgotten. Her favorite painting is already sold. She’s not hearing again her favorite music. And her favorite word became the saddest word that makes her bleed every time she hears it—
A simple name can flash thousands of stories. Stories that she should forget, but she still can’t.