Maybe you're made from the same stardust
that I hold within,
I can feel you inside of me,
like I know where you've been.

Every tragedy that you hold
is a tough weight to bear;
I know because I have my own,
I have enough to share.

And everything that shines
is hidden in the dark.
We wait around like burnt match sticks,
waiting for a spark.

To be seen, that's the goal, right?
To be the light in someone's night?
Or the image when someone closes their eyes.
To be the first face seen when they arise.