The day you left, I realized
you were a rogue planet. That you didn’t orbit around
anyone or anything. That you had no solar system and you
found your way into mine, into my orbit, to stay with me just
for a little while. I couldn’t keep you. You
weren’t meant to be a part of me. Our love was like the
sun, ninety-nine percent of this solar system, but not nearly
enough to keep you. Some things are more beautiful because
they don’t belong to anyone or anything. That is how I
would like to remember you. As something too wild for me to
keep, rather than a thing that threw the sun away.
— Nikita Gill,
You Left Me
Between a Black Hole and a Supernova
