we were never written in the stars.

He was the sun.

Yellows and oranges and reds,

fiery down to the core.

A big bright star in the middle

of an otherwise dark galaxy.

 

I was a mere planet.

Small and cold and lifeless,

orbiting around this sun,

trying to find a source of warmth.

There was nothing special about me.

 

And it almost seemed like we could work.

I gave him the attention he craved

and he gave me the warmth and love I needed.

But it was destined to end badly.

I could not grow closer to him,

for I was only a mere planet

obeying my path of orbit.

We could never become closer nor farther

than where we are now.

And it was not his fault

that he was the sun.

And it was not my fault

that I was only a speck in the universe.

But it was my fault

for believing this could work,

for believing I could ever be something more.

 

• m.f.