You told me that to feel complete is to feel certain in every aspect of yourself. You feel complete at night, under the stars, when the enormity of life, the world, the universe, comforts you; the realisation that you are just one tiny thread in the endless tapestry of existence.
When you asked me if I understood what it felt like, I shook my head. No. I lied.
Of course I do.
The calm, the comfort, the wonder; I feel it all when your hand clutches mine, when your fingers caress my skin, when your smile puts the moon to shame.
Don't you see?
The stars don't complete me.
You do.
