It's the subtle touches— ones that resemble the lightning striking the unaware— that make my heart bleed more and more. My lovesick mind whispers to my equally lovesick soul, telling my own self in a hushed lullaby to hold onto you for dear life. Words slip out of my mouth like how you let the hearty chuckles escape out of yours; and I ask you if you wanted the sun, the moon, or the stars. You have it all, I think, you have the whole night sky, and you are just as heavenly.

The ink I guide spreads on your skin, and it faintly resembles the darkness painting the sky once the sun sets. A half moon then appears on your left hand. A voice inside my head, yet again, tells me that the only thing missing is an array of stars; but fear not, my love, you have all of the galaxies in this ****** universe within you.

As you sit back and admire the work my shaky hands did on your skin, my vision goes hazy and my thoughts that were once filled with you suddenly are replaced by melancholic reflections instead. As much as I love these celestial attractions of the macrocosm we live in, I can't help but think that maybe the universe and my lucky stars aren't with me on this. And maybe our paths don't cross, but I'll always hold these small moments close to my heart; and I'll always think of you when I look up at the moon on cold evenings that make me tremble because of the lack of warmth, whether it be figuratively, or in a literal manner.