How long will the stars hold our secrets?

How long until after we forget?

Can we wander throughout the skies together and pretend our stars are nothing but bright?

When did I lose myself upon the earth? When did my face turn gray?

When will time make sense of all these poems, and intact pictures, and your constant presence?

Or can we just breathe? Can you just hold my hand so that I know it could never fit.

Because itʻs too small, too foreign, too unbalanced.

Silence teared us a part and weighed us down, preventing us to return.

Did you see me reaching, did you see me wanting to remember, trying to hold on?

Everything I ever was tossed like dust in the wind, until nothing could be understood, until it was all just a blur that no one ever cared to explain.

Did you see me running, did you see me struggling to forget, looking away?

The tightness of our tongues made us strangers and time kept us locked in place.

And the moments, those small fragile moments, when we broke free, when we could see into each otherʻs souls and know for eternity that everything was real,

those were the moments that kept me alive.

And when the stars go out, will our secrets disappear

or will they fall during a storm, and paint our hearts with silver and tears and ghosts on every cracked windshield?

Will those ghosts haunt us or will we be able to live in spite of them,

as the stars continue to fall or die or light up the world or destroy it.

Can we live without those stars?

Will we still want to?