The cherry blossoms were flowering and swayed in the tender caress of the breeze while we strolled, hand in hand. His face was dazzling and exuberant with the soft rosy sense of unrequited youth and love. He grinned radiantly, and I too smiled back sweetly. The outing was going marvelously. We fit together like two harmonizing notes, like two fitting pieces of a puzzle. Then, we reached the end of the drive. A thundering, dismal cloud barreled in as he muttered some hasty, anguished words. His expression dimmed. It sounded like he said there was someone else. Was that a question? My mind plummeted through various meanings of this abrupt utterance. I thought, darkly, yet hopefully, to myself, “No, there is only You, love!” His face despondent, though almost expectant, behaved as if it were a lone sapling, anxiously anticipating, awaiting the strongest rush of air to dishevel it and blast it into oblivion. Sick realization, which was once denied entry, settled into my entire being like a disease coursing through my veins. I now fully comprehended that there wasn’t any more future for “us.” As he stalked away, I remembered how he related our love to the brightest constellations of the heavens. I must have remained numbly on that sidewalk for hours, because it was suddenly night. I gazed dejectedly towards the skies. I witnessed a particular, shimmering star grow obscurely bleak and streak down to meet with the earth, just as I went supernova.