At first, you were a secret. An unintentional secret. Simply a name in my phone, not yet a person to me. I’d let my mind wander about meeting you. When, if, where. Who you’d become to me. If anyone at all. I told no one of your existence because I was so afraid that this would be another pattern of me falling for something that wasn’t even destined to be real.

But I told the stars about you.

We’d have conversations in hush tones as the crickets chirped outside and the soft summer wind cradled the leaves of the trees. I’d tell them about how we had been talking and how wonderful things were going. And how I was looking forward so much to meeting you. And how with them I told my wishes, my wishes that led to me finally being with you. I told them more details about the conversations they watched us have. They told me how watching us, they grabbed some popcorn and rooted for us to work out. They told me how happy we both were in each other’s company, even before even meeting. But they also saw more than what I could see.

I told the stars how worried I was that I wouldn’t be enough for you. Or that you wouldn’t want me. Or that my beautiful mess of anxiety, chronic illness and overthinking would be too much baggage. But they reassured me. Trust us, they said in the darkness. They told me how you were worried, how with everything happening in the world you just wanted something casual. But you’d never really done casual, so I asked, How would that work? They told me how neither of us were in places in our lives where we were confident that this could truly work out for what both of us wanted it to be. Or to be what I thought you also wanted it to be. The stars never really knew for sure. Did you talk to them too?

The stars tucked me into bed each night sprinkling their stardust to help calm my insomnia. But when you and I spent the summer nights talking until sunrise, the stars winked, said goodnight and then watched us, carefully observing. They laughed with us and saw how slowly we became some of the happiest versions of ourselves. Or at least I did. When I finally travelled back at the end of the summer, in our nightly conversation before meeting you, I told them how scared I was. How afraid I was that this could go a million different ways, how maybe you wouldn’t like me. How after an entire summer of talking, this could go in any possible direction. But it went in one that I loved.

I told the stars how lucky I felt. How wonderful it was to spend time with you. How much my life felt like it had changed for the better with you in it. I told them how I was worried that maybe I was exaggerating, and they told me that for once, I should stop overthinking everything and just let go. Let myself enjoy the time I have with you. Let myself be myself and never anything less. So that’s what I did.

The stars told me how cute we were. How proud they were of the way you and I handled conflict no matter how small, how we discussed things like adults and treated each other with respect. They told me how proud they were of me for how much I have grown from our relationship from the girl I used to be, for the better. How I’ve become so much kinder, considerate and loving. They warned me though, to be careful. How when something seems perfect, it is incredibly fragile. How right now, you and I are in a world where the tiniest thing can make the world shatter in an instant. But they also said that just because life might get busy and stressful that doesn’t mean we should stop doing the things that make us happy and seeing the people we love spending time with.

I told the stars the other night, how lying in your arms, I’ve never felt more secure. How I feel so safe with you, something I’ve never felt from another person. I told them that you’re the first one I’ve ever seen a future with. And how falling asleep with you beside me, all I could think about is how badly I wanted to tell you that I love you.

But I told the stars I couldn’t.

And they asked me why.

The stars said I should tell you if that’s truly how I feel. But the thing is, I told them, is that I don’t know if you feel the same way. And I’m so worried that I will jeopardize what we have now if I tell you how I truly feel. Because me loving you, that doesn’t mean anything needs to change. It doesn’t mean you need to say it back. It doesn’t mean you need to love me, and it doesn’t mean you need to even be mine and only mine. It doesn’t mean we need to even be more than we are. But I told the stars, oh how I wish it did.

I told the stars that it’s okay if we don’t work out. It’s okay if you won’t ever be truly mine. Of course I want you to be, but maybe you weren’t meant to be my forever. And that’s okay. I told the stars that I’m thankful for the moments that I shared with you and that if this is the end, then I guess that’s alright. They know that the idea of that makes me sad. But I also need to give us both room to grow, and at this point, I can’t tell if that’s what you still want or need.

The stars told me that you said not to wait for you. But I wish that for once, the stars could be wrong.

I told the stars how I loved you, p, and how I wish that you loved me too.