I can tell by the awkward silence that divides us, something in the blackness of this night isn't right.
Maybe it's me.
Maybe it's you.
I have a feeling it's him.
It's probably a combination of all of the above, though the only thing above me now is the moon.
Tonight's moon is the apostrophe in the contraction that is my 'will' and your 'not'.
Ironic, isn't it?
The next lunar apostrophe will be yours and his.
The next lunar apostrophe will be a catastrophe.
Yours and his.
If only you could see that he will never be the one. Not your one. There's a reason why I am with you while he is with no one. That is his choice. It is no longer my concern, because in the darkness of this night, I've found clarity.
We exist in this lunar cycle. Will we find love in another?
We certainly won't.
You and he won't either.
I'm losing one, but you will lose two. I suppose my loss isn't so bad by comparison.
Despite this night, I will remember you fondly.