Out Of This Entire Galaxy, You And I Are Each Other’s Stars

I like the way you make me feel.

The way our bodies seem to know each other, the static that transfers in your touch, or the rush I get when I stare into your eyes.

We’re connected like that, in strange and terrifying ways we can’t even explain. But we know. Somehow we just know.

When I was little girl, I believed in that human bodies were like stars, floating in this expanse of sky. Directionless. Bright. I believed that our lights would burn and burn and burn until we’d find the one whose brightness matched ours.

And then we would set on fire and shoot across the sky together.

Sometimes I still believe that—that our souls are bigger than they seem, burning thousands of miles away from this ground we walk on. That we’re shining bright and beautiful, waiting for our fates to align, our bodies to crash into one another. Waiting for an explosion.

And then we’d know it was love. We’d know.

I like that idea, that love is something we cannot define, but inherently understand. Like how our hearts subconsciously pump blood to the entirety of our bodies. Or how we breathe without thinking.

You and I, we are like stars who crossed paths somewhere in this incredible expanse of galaxy.

We’re burning, melting into one another. Growing bigger, brighter.

We are filling the world with our light, getting ready to explode and flash across the sky in all our glory and grandeur. I’m ready for it.

Perhaps the path we orbit on will eventually change, perhaps we will shift to brighten other planets. But I can feel your warmth inside my heart, traveling like electricity through my cells.

I cannot find the right string of words to explain how I’m feeling, what this is, or who we are.

But it’s love.
I just know.