you were a galaxy of mysteries described with metaphors while i was written in long sentences with just simple letters. you were like an ocean of emotions with each drop made from a new serendipity while i was a mere story of how destructive life could be.
those who read you never found which chemicals bloomed against each other or how the stars formed constellations to take form of someone like you. they didn't understand how the sun and moon became rivals just to be beside you; the sun which longed to settle its rays in your porcelain skin and comb its fingers in your feathered hair; the moon which craved to glide over the mountain or swim in the fountain of your thoughts.
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yet, they discarded you as just another ink stained book with a few sheets, wrapped in stardust they could never believe in.
what they didn't know,
was
how you tore your pages to me because i didn't have enough. how you spilled your ink because i had wasted away mine. how you decided to settle with a poem just so i could get out with being a prose.
||i ruined you ,yet you worshiped the very ground i walked on with your blood beneath my feet||
