Starlit Greetings from the Dove Who Wants Me Dead

It’s as fleeting as life, she told me.

People were meant to come and go.

The moonlight hits my face and traces my windowsill. If I blink and unfocus my eyes, sometimes I see her standing there. I don’t know what she looks like now, it's been years since I saw her last. The glass shows me a muddy reflection of what could have been, then my own sad face.

Maybe she wanted me to know that things go and move on.

So why is it that I find traces of her everywhere…? 

Familiar eyes peer from across my balcony, I catch a glimpse of orange hair, dashing away. Perhaps this is an illusion, something I’ve casted from my desperation.

The window is ajar, just as I left it. I hear the sound of a bird ruffling its feathers, and soon followed by a dove soaring by my window. Greetings.