I used to think the stars belonged to us; that they appeared in commemoration of the beautiful life we built together. And although I knew other couples enjoyed the majesty of the glowing bulbs that lined the boundless sky, somehow, it felt as if they were meant for us. On the nights we drove up to the mountain — my favorite nights we shared — and parked in the dirt aside from the pine tree where we once engraved our initials in loopy handwriting, I swear the stars brightened. Almost as if they anticipated our arrival, watched us in awe while telling the others, "look, there's Elle and Gray."

Their undying glow would reflect in his soft blue eyes as he placed his warm hand on my blushing cheek, caressed my lip with his thumb, and whispered in my ear the name he reserved only for me: "my star". The stars would gently sigh as his forehead leaned against mine, hands delicately tilting my face up to his, as I breathed out in response, "yours forever". As our lips pressed together under the safety of the vigilant sky, "forever" felt inevitable.

Only "forever" had an expiration date.

So as I looked up now at the lucid sky filled with the all too familiar blanket of stars, the memories consumed my lonely mind, clear as the limitless horizon above us both, miles and miles apart. While I knew I was being selfish, every part of me wished he wasn't rewriting our memories with her. I tried to reconcile; attempted to convince myself she hadn't become his new star. But, I knew better — even stars aren't forever.