i look to the stars and cry out in
this is what you do to me.
there are holes in my soul where you forgot to sew me back up, but
you like me better this way.
your fingers make their way towards the sun and i scream silently, begging, for you to get there, for you to burn your fingertips on the heat of it all.
on the heat of you and i.
i pray to a god that may or may not exist.
i ask them to bring you to the point that will break you. the point that will let you break for me.
in the meantime, you reach for the sun
and i hope you get close enough to burn.