Stars Fly

You and I are like the billions upon billions of stars out there.

Though I have lived a little longer than you have, we are still two of the same celestial body. You burn quite brightly against the black of emptiness, brighter than the others out there, a wide array of fantastical color and luminosity. In your presence, your warmth emanates into the cold vacuum of this expansive and lonely space we inhabit, filling my body with the comfort of your arms of light.

Others pale in comparison to your gravity, the strong urge to curl up next to you, within you, all around you–it pulls me ever nearer, closer to the heart of your being. Past us fly the remnants of others’ lives and the dangers strung to them, but we pay them no mind. They are merely pieces in a game we play for fun.

Being the astronomically unique entities we are, we could become a part of something amazing. We could be together–a dazzling constellation, meant to represent something bigger, more intriguing than how you or I exist on our own.

Your wild flares ensnare me and pluck and gingerly strum the delicate strings of my heart of fire and passion. They ignite the zeal and vivacity coiling beneath my outer shell, urging me to flail and fling my fiery arms about in sheer, pulsating and intoxicating and contagious joy.

How I wish I could be with you for the rest of our existence, of eternity, curled up together in the fabric of the space-time continuum, indulging in each other’s warmth and companionship.

We could be everything and warp into nonexistence together, forever and always bound to each other’s vows and promises.

How starry-eyed am I. How my dreaming extends far out and away from this world, the impossible, the improbable, the impractical. But it is, indeed, imaginable, thus, all the more infallible.


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