You look up at the stars
and admire their scattered patterns,
embracing their sporadic beauty
as they fade in and out of view.
I hope you see the constellations of scars
mapped across my skin
in the same way.
I hope I look the same to you.

I have come to find that two broken people don't make a whole.
Half-full or half-empty hearts,
regardless of perspective,
do not refill when spilled together.