I felt the urge to tell you of stars and questions I wasn't suppose to let roll off my tongue, but you held your breath when I licked the corner of my lips and in those moments when I turn to mist and lightning? I want to ask you if you'd let me save you.
You wouldn't, but I would, you have this way about you that comes off as protective, as if the world wouldn't be able to touch me. Can you feel the gravity when I move in front of you, or the way I pull you closer when you almost run the people over with your wide strides? I'm your protector, and you have no idea.
I'd make sure to keep you safe, keep the only star I've ever held burning with intensity of the static of your lips on mine. You'd gravitate to another star instead of a girl with clumsy hands and ghost wings, which is fine because if she made you see the galaxy in your eyes? I'd love her too.
You wanted me for the rest of my life, but if it came down to it? You're mine, and I will not let you be buried under oak trees to match your eyes, no cold fingers, no goodbyes.
You'd live on, and I? Will finally get my wings.