i said i don't see galaxies in her eyes, and i don't.
it's something clearer than that,
an ocean pressed
to the size of a knife and pierced
through my chest

i still get chills when i look at her, sometimes,
and yet i sit by the fire drinking hot chocolate and the winter turns into something beautiful.

she is cold but
she is the warmest thing that has slipped through the holes in my skin and taken up space in the hollows of my bones.
she smiles at me, and,
not for the first time,
i wonder why it had to be her,
who looks at me like she sees me but touches me like she doesn't,
who sees the way i reach for her but doesn't reach back.

she smiles at me and i cannot move;
above our heads, the sun shines.