The night has fallen once again, the sun no longer visible. The stars now decorated the night sky, twinkling about, but as she stared at the moon, it seemed like the light brought by the streetlamps and the natural satellite slowly dimmed, the colors now irrelevant to her eyes.

          Aubrey looked down at the sheet of paper on top of her desk. Her hand held the pen firmly, her eyes scanning the blank sheet of paper. How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? For how long has she been staring at the paper, not writing a single word, or even a letter for that matter?

          The clocked ticked loudly in her ears, chiming a tune when it struck twelve. It's a signal that she should retreat for the day--or night, tuck herself in her bed and fall into a deep slumber. But she ignored the will to close her eyes, pressing the tip of her pen on the paper and guiding it to form the message she wants to convey.

          It was awful, simply put. The words she used sounds or looks like something pulled off from thesaurus.com, and the order of her thoughts is in disarray. She sighed. It looks like something written by a grade schooler who wants to impress the teacher and searched for big words without knowing the meaning of it. Flipping the pen so it circled her thumb, Aubrey smiled with content. Sure, it may not be perfect, but it's just a draft. It could be worse, and at least she knows what to say now.

          Her gaze fell on the trash bin beside her feet, crumpled papers filling the said bin with some laying on the floor near it. She recalled the times when she failed on writing a simple letter. It was either too formal, kind of like a military report or something, or it's too comedic and laid-back that the overall results made little to no sense. Sometimes you can feel the awkwardness through the use of her words, or maybe it sounds like she's talking to someone who's a big shot, like a celebrity or even the queen. Really, there's no in between. It's just stupid to think that she can't put her feelings into words and write a message as if she's just talking normally.

          The cool wind blew from outside, making the pastel orange curtains dance, following its movement. She laid her phone on top of the paper to prevent it from flying away. Her hand tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear, and she leaned back on her chair, resting her hands on her lap.

          The message isn't complete, but it's enough. She was thinking about it all day, the day spent without seeing her best friend. It's only natural of course, Lucas isn't obligated to see her every single day, especially now that he's engaged. She's just a friend, not a lover.

          Like the tiny dots in the night sky that she could barely see, she's just a speck in a possibly endless universe. The stars crossing meant something for the one she grew a liking to, but she's not a part of his newly found love.

          Aubrey glared at the white rays made by the lamp on her desk, as if doing it could ease the pain she's feeling. She thought it was gone, she thought it was dead the moment she became a witness to probably one of his greatest moments in life. Boy, she was wrong.

          Aubrey let out an exasperated sigh, finally giving in to the urge to sleep. It was a long day—or rather night. Maybe it's time to rest her mind.

          Slowly, her grip on her pen became loose, the sound of it dropping being the last thing she heard before her consciousness fades away with her aches.