Unloved

by Katy Regnery

I wish I was the sun so I could shine down on her, so I could examine every peak and valley of her face until I have it memorized and can recall it at any lonesome moment: the sad, beautiful, green-eyed girl from the forest.

Saying goodbye doesn’t mean forgetting. Moving on doesn’t mean you never loved him. I’m telling you to let go. I’m telling you that you’re allowed to be happy.

The minutes I’ve spent with her are the greatest gift my quiet life has ever known.

“You are . . .,” he murmurs breathily, moving his hips up experimentally as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, “the greatest . . . treasure . . . of my entire life.”