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Desperate for answers, I go searching in the stars. I ask them: on a scale of one to catastrophe, how beautiful would they say we are?

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Words have taken hostage of my tongue. All the things I’m too afraid to say collect like volcanic ash in my lungs. Vulnerabilities bleed on paper but leave my mouth – never.
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I write to feel closer to you.
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I set sail eagerly and hungrily on the sea of love, to which there is no end in sight – only bright beginnings.
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Your presence is poetic, mysterious and deep. If you don’t mind I’d like to read you; uncover the dirty secrets hidden within your pages and fill that missing space between your sheets.
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I imagine myself cold as ice falling into your open arms. Everyone says it’s beautiful where I am but I’d rather be where you are.
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If there’s still hope for the hopeless, there must be hope for us.
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I long for connection but speak only with your reflection.
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