There was a storm brewing in the crevices of her dreams. Looking at the stars on the long walk home that night, she suddenly felt small, too small, irrelevant and insignificant. She wanted to hide. She tried, but the upturned bowl of dark blue skies and glittering lights would not let her disappear. She was alive, but she did not feel like it. Life has bitten her off one too many times that what was left, time and tears could not mend.

He was a flood of unwanted emotions and mixed signals. One moment, she was his world, the next, he was so out of it, he didn't even notice her staring. The worst kinds of mistakes come in the most beautiful packages sometimes, she's been warned, but like any other starry eyed girl, she did not listen.

He sprinkled stardust over her head whenever he felt like it, and she basked in the attention, cause finally, finally, someone sees. Not only that, someone cares. It was nice to be cared for, for a change. To not worry about whether she was wearing the right dress for the right afternoon stroll, or if it was okay to send that 'good morning' text, cause there was always a long one waiting for her when she woke up.

She was pretty, he said. She shone and glowed and radiated light wherever she went, and he was her power supply.

And then everything died out.

She was okay before he came, before he made everything so bright that she simply was blinded when he walked away. There was no goodbye. There was no see you later. There was just the silence that she once used to love, except now it was the wrong kind. There was time, a lot of it, to think about what she could have done wrong, and how she should have done it differently. There was self loathing. There was silence, the deadly kind, the one where the only sound is the rushing wind, and the clouds were twisting into a storm, and lightning sliced through the downpour of words in her head.

She was small, irrelevant, and insignificant.