i am a girl
and he is a star
and there are so, so many girls just like me
that it seems very silly to want him.

i am a fan, in love with his voice:
with the curls of his hair:
with the gentle dips of his smile and the uproarious sound of his laugh:
i am a fan, but i am one of so many thousands
that it would be silly to dream about him.

he is a star, crash-landed on earth,
galactic-bright grin and planet-colored eyes,
so many personalities that he slips
in and out of every one
like they're clothes, like a game, like they're breathing--
and i could never know all or any of them
but that doesn't stop me from wanting to.

he is my nebula, flung farther from me
than a string of adorations could cross
in a lifetime, in ten, in ten thousand;
so close, sometimes, when the timing is right
but still more distant than a million twinkling galaxies.

till i find my own brilliant sun
he will shine in my sad-thoughts like a dream;
and they will say, oh, i love him, he's wonderful
i will bite back the heartache he's too good to bear
and i'll say, yes, i know.

he's celestial.