postscriptum

The nights are cold on Tatooine.

Rey hasn’t felt warm since she had Ben’s arms wrapped around her.

The moon is high in the pitch black sky, casting shadows down on the dunes. It’s just her and a long stretch of sand, like before. Like always. It should be calming, this unending expanse of air and nothingness. Freeing, even. But instead, it’s suffocating. Like something’s closing in on her. But nothing is. There’s nothing out there but sand and sorrow.