"you're not the sun. you're my stars."
"why?" she pouts, half laughing. "what if i want to be the sun?"
"the sun...it's too inconsistent. too obvious. sure, some days are beautiful, but others are cloudy, tired, dull. but the stars—they're always there. they're always bright, glowing, peaceful, constant, even behind the clouds. guiding you, i guess. and that's what you do. you're my north star," he smiles, that slow glowing half smile she loves, and takes her hand.
"alright then. you can be my moon," she grins. "perfect. and together, we're all of the night sky."
