we leave
the people we thought we knew
for those we don't.

we wish
for the things we think we want
not for those we have to stay.

we can't believe
the people we love
sometimes don't love us back.

but all we are
is a speck of dust
within a galaxy that sometimes
does not care that we exist.

are we hoping for too much?

perhaps.

but this i know:
i will never stop hoping
because it gives me the essence
of my being.

the disappointments;
the excitement;
those days where everything seems
bright as the sun;
those days where everything seems
dark as a starless, moonless night,
they make me who i am.

and this,
is who i am.
another wanderer, looking
for a little space
to tuck her soul away;
to hide it among the stars.