Stars and wishes

Twisting my words like balloon animals. He hands me an abstract red giraffe and I take it and smile. As if I didn’t have to hold up the heavens to keep the stars from falling.

I miss talking, like we used to sometimes. Where our words meant everything and lasted longer. But now it feels like the sky might shatter worse than my heart. And I doubt his hands could let go of the door knob long enough to catch the pieces.

Maybe I should just face the fact that I’m too broken. The letters drip from my fingertips as the silence settles in, but it’s not comforting. Confused promises and lingering hope and the fear that I may run out of ink before I can say the words that are so anxious to be heard.

I picture the way his hands could set all those stars free. Scatter them like diamonds, back to where they belong. And I wish that I could somehow paint my secrets across the darkened sky for him to see. But I am so afraid of how easily I crumble to the sound of his heartbeat and how my skin aches for his touch to decorate me with goose bumps.

I wish I could be more than just a cloud in his beautiful sky.