Hopeless Romantic

To the Human I love... this is dedicated to you.

Someone tore the seam

between what we were

and what we could have been.

a whisper of doubt,

a shadow between hearts.

We drifted apart,

like tides pulled from one another,

no message, no touch,

just silence filling the spaces

where laughter used to live.

Months passed.

Then one day,

I found a drawing

you left in my tote bag.

a ghost in graphite,

a heartbeat in lines.

I carried it everywhere,

as if keeping you near

could bring you back.

Then your name returned to me,

a vibration in my phone,

a breath I thought I’d lost.

You missed me.

You wanted to see me again.

We tried to make plans.

promises half-shaped like dreams.

“Let’s sleep on it,” we said,

but the morning never came.

Days bled into weeks.

The silence returned.

I reached out.

You saw it.

And didn’t answer.

Why?

I know you’re buried in work,

fifty hours a week,

but I still wonder.

was I ever a pause worth taking?

Was I ever a home worth keeping?

Where are you now?

Were all those words a lie,

or did they fade

the way ink does in rain?

Where is my Human?

the one who would hold me close

and let me know everything is okay,

the one who reached out

even when life was chaos.

Where are you now, Human?

I look at the stars

and remember your words:

“I got all the time in the world, do you?”

It echoes in my head

over and over.

I’ll wait for you, my Human.

Even when everything feels lost,

I’ll be here waiting.

Time feels different

when it’s spent with the right person.

Maybe it’s less about having time

and more about choosing

how we fill it.

I’ll wait for you, Human.

until then,

I’ll tell the stars all about you

Miss Sparkle’s perspective to Human

Part 1

I miss your words,

the way they folded into mine.

A quiet hum beneath my heartbeat,

steady and warm,

like a secret meant only for two.

You would speak,

and the whole world softened.

The air seemed to pause

so it could listen too.

Your laughter painting the room in gold,

your voice weaving stories

of the life you dreamed,

the things you loved,

the little wonders that made you you.

I remember the way you’d look at me mid-sentence,

eyes deep and sure,

as if every thought you shared

was an unspoken vow.

And when you kissed me

oh, when you kissed me.

it wasn’t just affection.

It was belief.

It was I love you

spoken in a language older than words.

Now, silence has your name.

Delaware drifts farther from D.C.,

and yet, in the hush of every night,

I still hear you.

Your voice threads through my dreams,

soft as rain on glass,

calling me by name

the way only you could.

As though my soul

were an echo of yours.

If love were distance,

I would measure it in breaths.

If love were longing,

I would carry it like light.

And still, I would cross every mile

to hear your voice again

that tender truth

whispered against my skin,

telling me once more

how deeply, endlessly,

you love me.

- Sloane Sparkle

Delaware Nights, D.C. Dreams

Human’s perspective to Miss Sparkle

Part 2

If you could hear me,

you’d know I never stopped speaking to you.

Not with words, but with everything that remembers.

The wind that finds your window at night,

the slow hum of rain on the city streets

that’s me, whispering your name.

I think about the way you listened,

how your eyes turned still

when I talked about my dreams,

like you were memorizing every sound I made.

You never interrupted;

you just breathed with me,

and somehow, that silence felt holy.

You say you miss my voice,

but I miss the way you made it matter.

How you took my rambling thoughts

and turned them into something worth saying.

When I told you I loved you,

it wasn’t out of habit;

it was awe.

Because somehow,

loving you made me understand what love meant.

Delaware feels colder now.

Even the ocean here

sounds like it’s searching for you.

And though D.C. glows miles away,

I imagine your face in its lights,

your smile hidden in some crowd,

your heartbeat crossing the distance

that neither of us can see but both can feel.

If I could be near you again,

I’d speak softer this time,

not because I’m afraid you’ll leave,

but because I’d want you to feel

how much every word holds you.

I’d tell you again

not in passing, not in half-meant lines,

but like a prayer pressed to your skin:

I love you,

and I still do,

in every silence between us.