Stand up boy, I shine so bright when you're around.

he would always be that thing. you know, that one constant movement in the midst of chaos, like the perfect song on a tragic day. he would always be her world. she said that he used to love her, back when it all first begin, back when she was dating someone else and they had found each other in friendship. he became her confidant. he became her laughter. he became a piece of who she was. while she gave herself away physically to boys disguised in smiles and camoflauged in alcohol's desire, she also gave herself away emotionally - to him. she told me it was like a movie. like, in some kind of wonderful. he was watts. she was keith. every guy she wanted was amanda jones. but that was where the similarities ended. he was standing right in front of her, and she just kept walking. until one day, he was behind her and out of reach, a memory. a regret. a written piece of music that never had a chance to be played. it just sat there, notes arranged into corresponding harmonies. moments of distress, but always followed by a resolution. she told me it would have been beautiful. and i believed her. if you would have seen her face, you would have believed it to. she spoke quietly, afraid of telling the truth but her words still grasping onto raw emotion. i couldn't see tears, but i could feel them - gathering in the air like a tornado, ready to touch down at any moment, the possibility of self-destruction on her tongue. i wanted to rewind time for her, and place him in my seat. for him to hear the heart-wrenching passion, the hidden secret. for him to know how much she loved him, how much she had always loved him. stripping away the fear and speaking out loud. that's all it would have taken. but the past is the past, she said. i don't believe her then. the past feels the same as the present. the song is still dancing on her lips, waiting to be sung. her voice, now, is simply rehearsing for the big performance. this is just the first step towards recognition, towards a masterpiece. she tells me he has moved on, as her hands move up and down her jeans. i imagine the nervous sweat that is enveloping her body. how her heart must be writhing. it's so beautiful and catastrophic that i want to cry. because now, i know she will never love another. she will never love me. she said she was sorry. she said she would always regret her silence, her inability to take part in the game when she had the chance. love had come and gone, and she had watched it... floating in the air like a butterfly, stopping briefly on the flower before her, and then simply flying on again... she said she would never get the chance to perform this act again. the moment had passed. the flower had died. spring was no longer. i had found her in the dead of winter, where she would never escape. he would always be her butterfly. he would always be her happiness. to her, her first love and her last love would be the same forever. but, he would never know it. she never gave him the chance to hear it. only i, who wanted to love her, will carry the song.