Aching in all the wrong places,
hurting like alchohol on a wound,
stars like the alchemy of an old soul,
languages I cannot comprehend.
I want you to find me in my space,
lost between memories of time and space.
a wire of existence that binds the thread.
I want to touch you in space,
where gravity dies feelings,
and our dreams are galaxies ahead of us.
but we have the thrust to hold each other,
and the acceleration of this heart that will go,
after all the trails you left behind with those stars,
chasing and chasing the sky through which,
i can only seem to find galaxies and galaxies,
and galaxies each painted with montages of tommorrow,
and yet i find them sinking deeper into the abyss,
because all things beautiful made everything dull
like stained colors instead of rainbows in summer.