A Star to Call my Own

We are the centers of our own universe,
I feel like I could agree,
but as my feet sludge across the floor unconsciously,
I notice they encircle you.

Memorizing your schedule, so I can catch a glimpse,
hoping our paths may intertwine,
like the way I want to grasp your hand,
a tangled mess of fate lines, storylines refusing to unhinge.

You have your own constellation,
your own story to tell, your own friends to tell them too,
I wish upon a star,
so that maybe I can shoot across the sky and join you.

You: the constellation Artemis,
a symmetrical vision, I wish would stand next to dysfunctional me,
but you have better things to do,
you fly away on your hippogryph stranding me in the abyss.

You are so much more than just a constellation though,
you are the sun,
you sustain me a force moving me to get up each morning,
but only because ‘what’ and ‘if’ would combine in an effort to haunt me.

You shine,
lighting up each personal universe you collide with,
when your rays travel one hundred forty-nine million kilometers,
I will not intercept you at the last two feet as you try to kiss the ground.

You don’t have to worry about me outshining you,
I will only reflect your light,
becoming close enough to you that you give me the name moon,
always chasing you but never truly yours.

I follow you across the sky,
but every now and then you leave me,
let me drown in my own darkness,
the only light I have comes from you.

It’s alright that you run away from my stone heart,
that you avoid me like the Andromeda galaxy,
a danger that would turn you around, around, around,
it’s alright that you don’t want that.
That you don’t want me.

I wonder if alright will be our never,
because it’s the fault in my star,
that means I can’t be in your constellation,
I don’t belong in your personal universe.

It alters my own to know,

that for now you are my everything,
but I will always be your nothing,
and maybe for now that’s alright.