We were an explosion:
we mattered and filled the empty spaces out.
We drew constellations on our walls,
planned a future amongst those stars.
There's planets we dressed
and passionate nebulas we blessed.
But somewhere in between the crosshairs,
the distance exceeds us;
we kept adding anyway.
Time was a construct made for us to measure our existence but instead I count the seconds like decades. Your hands haven't reached for mine in eons.

Our Universe might have grown
but now we're galaxies apart.