In amongst life's mysteries
Lost in the pages of unwritten histories
Eyes that have seen
the divine
Sparks light her eyes
Sparks of stars, of starry skies
Your were my other half
Lost in a daydream
My lost lady.

Starry starry night,
A star is shinning so bright;
It's light years away

What do you like about her?

For some reason, I could not decide what to say. When someone asks what I like about her, my mind goes racing so fast that I get caught up in my words.

She's the type of girl who would force the secret out of you if you refuse to tell it to her.

She's the type of girl who doesn't care about what other people think, she lives her life without anyone dictating it for her.

And her curves. God, if I could, I'd trace her curves all day.

She's the type of girl who gets jealous, even with the littlest of things. I thought at first it was normal to get jealous, but this is different. She'd get jealous not because you're breathing the same air as the other girl, but she'd get jealous because she's territorial-- she wants you all to herself.

She's the type of girl who never stops talking. If talking were a sport, she'd be an olympic medalist! But no matter how far off her topics would be, you'd never get tired of her, ever. You'd probably even drift away, lost in her eyes, and she'd have to snap her fingers in front of you to come back to your senses.

She's just mesmerizing, like you would probably touch her arm just to make sure that she's real. She's the full moon on a starry night; God, how could such an amazing person exist?

I'll admit, she's not perfect. Perfection is overrated. She has flaws, and that's why I fell in love with her in the first place. I fell in love with her flaws.

Your starry eyes and my galaxy mind
dance together in the depths of the night.
No matter how bright I may seem
or how darkly you gleam,
no light compares to those stars I can see next to me.

Morning words that taste so sweet;
But your anticipation hides a hiss that won’t leave
And my attention will dwindle, too, like stars committing suicide
Problems precipitate on the porcelain sink and I think while it pours outside:
What you’re doing is eating at the pillars, your intent
Might very well be testing me like the Ocean tests a new continent
Your questions propel with good intention, but miss with bad-rap
And I drift between them aimlessly making no sense of the roadmap
And where my home is between fun and love and longevity
I watch you in the corner of the motel room as it stretches away from me
Your world crumbles like the end of your "bad habit”
That’s now mine too, and ever since I’ve been washing the red out of my T-shirt
I’ve been blue.