Even if her soul was as dark as an explosion of ash, or the darkest shine of an obsidian from the embers of liquid flames. There is still a universe I am searching within her, and she's slowly burning me, and I am fine with that.

Or maybe, the only star I find within her was the sun, and I am one of the planets she's going to slowly destroy.  I would've been fine if I had not known what love was. Content with the distance between us, which was a sea of galaxies only shooting stars seemed to cross.

I was given wings of wax to cross that pain, and to stick her back to the sky once more, to see that sun one more time. Even if I had been falling once--or more than a million times--just for the sake of one person. My wings would've been nothing more, if I had not met her to see her back in the sky. Even if it was to say our last goodbye.