The poem was gone.
Maya had gone to Orion's account looking for something to hold on to, something to remind her that the person she had been talking to was real. But the account was empty. Every post had been deleted. Every line of poetry she had memorized had been wiped away.
She stared at the blank page for a long time. Her chest felt tight and her hands felt cold and she did not know what she was supposed to do.
She opened her messages.
Nova: your account is empty.
@lit.with.jace: I know.
Nova: why?
@lit.with.jace: Because I cannot do this anymore.
She read the message three times. Then she typed: what do you mean
@lit.with.jace: I mean I cannot keep pretending. I cannot keep talking to someone who does not know who I am.
Nova: I know who you are.
@lit.with.jace: Do you?
Sh
