I watch the reels, their quiet grace, a boy who looks upon his love as though she threads the stars with lace. The words below, “I won,” they say and for a breath, I feel that day. For once, in time’s forgotten hue, a boy looked at me that way too. His eyes, a soft and sacred light, held me like morning holds the night. In them, I bloomed, I dared, I shone. Back then, I thought I too had won. But silence grew where words should be, and left me waiting by the sea of all we were, of all we planned alone, with questions in my hand. No farewell kiss, no final line, just vanished hope, and hollow time. I whisper, "I hate him" but it rings thin a fragile lie I wrap within. I chant, "I moved on" like worn out rhyme, but truth still echoes through the climb: I loved him then. I love him still. And love like mine won’t bend to will. For in my dreams, his eyes remain unchanged, untouched by loss or rain. They find me there, in shadows deep, where memory dances into sleep. And so he looks, and I don’t flee in dreams, his gaze still rests on me. -lai