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.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
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.
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