It hurts how far away we are from who we were together.
Like souls inverted, fused by magic, and then pulled apart.
Stretched across the universe by rough hands larger than anything; calloused fingers that whisper “I know what is best for you.”
If time is in distance in the great big universe, maybe someday we’ll soar so far
that we will find each other.
In wrinkles or in recklessness, I hope your lips meet mine again,
with the epiphany of what real loving is.
Everyday I see you in the smallest details, wrapped in tiny envelopes and parcels all from Fate.
Reading the signs is like reading your soul, in pieces that make you feel the world all at once.
I am so uncomfortably aware of how small I am
within this Creation that holds our habitable speck,
which only proves to me that something so great deserves to exist on it.
And if we are not destined to create a glory for our histories, I hope we meet as friends and lovers, and different stars in different worlds, and souls who seem to know each other
but do not understand why.
In past lives, I know you held my hand. In future ones, I hope you will. In present, I am always wishing you were around so our fingers could intertwine;
like our paths, always intersecting in this mysterious void filled with so much magic.
I am not certain how the world turns or why we grow or where we truly are, but I am certain you will always be my heart, a microscopic ***** in a sea of billions of stars.
I love you like the way the Universe is, always expanding and forever flowing through time.