I loved a star that never knew my name,
a silent flame,
fixed in the wreck of night.
Her stillness fooled me
into believing she sang.
She blinked once
in some long-dead century,
and I’ve lived ever since
by ghost light.
They say she's gone,
burned out or broken,
but I keep whispering psalms
to her afterglow,
drinking to the shape she made
in my sky.
I don't need the truth,
just the dream
of her burning.
Like something that waited for me,
not knowing I was too late
the moment I began.
Jul 17, 2025
Jul 17, 2025 at 9:38 PM UTC
I loved a star that never knew my name,
a silent flame,
fixed in the wreck of night.
Her stillness fooled me
into believing she sang.
She blinked once
in some long-dead century,
and I’ve lived ever since
by ghost light.
They say she's gone,
burned out or broken,
but I keep whispering psalms
to her afterglow,
drinking to the shape she made
in my sky.
I don't need the truth,
just the dream
of her burning.
Like something that waited for me,
not knowing I was too late
the moment I began.
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