When I look up at the stars, aligning to devise magnificent patterns, my mind rewinds to the way your delicate fingers would trace your thoughts upon my back, fabricating our love. I reminisce how your fingers entwined with mine, and the way they wrapped around my neck; I yearn for how they would dig into my skin—harsh but with loving intent— and the way they would hold me when my body trembled with despair. I miss the way your fingers touched me. I miss it. I miss it. I miss it. When we connected it was beautiful— just like the stars. After all, it only takes two to form a constellation.