"Burn bright," you said. "Burn bright, for you are a star
and that is your destiny--that is what you were born to do."
I remember when the sun set that one fateful day we spent in paradise--
barely paradise, actually, for the light and the colours only scared me off--
and you held my hand, exhaled as the orange turned to grape to blackberry blankets,
muttered something that sounded a bit like "It's always meant to be like this."

I breathed, I breathed, I breathed. And now, I do the same.

Maybe I'm not born to burn bright. Maybe I was born to burn out.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.
Hold my hand and breathe.