i was drowning in your galaxies of blue.
blue so pale- like your    e   y   e  s
when i swore i could feel them on me but
you weren't there.
i was drowning in your galaxies
in which the stars would shine
shine bright / bright light / bright white light / pale bright white light-
not like printer paper in the sun
more like the pigment of your skin
in the moonlight.

i didn't mind. drowning didn't seem
so bad.
because even though i felt awful and sad, i
also felt loved,
and that was so very pretty to me
as a poet. as a lonely star amidst
constellations.

you almost said the "l" word
a total of (probably) seven times in the five
long-short months that
we were almost lovers.
i actually said the "l" word
a total of five times.
twice as a half joke, hoping you'd pick up
where i slacked in clarity but never
in sincerity
and three times (thrice) in my goodbye
in which i beheld these self-evident truths:

that the almost (always almost) meant
that we could never be lovers
and i thought that i'd prefer us to be nothing to each
other but maybe friends.

(maybe, maybe, maybes make me want to wish on stars
but not the ones in your eyes)

and although time flies
i'm still somehow drowning in your galaxies
of blue.

and i wonder if its killing me
slowly
as your stars blink
and i'm gone
when they open their eyes.
*almost.