He is described in paragraphs written across pitch black in a neon pen. He has Andromeda behind his eyes, in his mind, and at the very core of his being. When I met him, I saw this all at once. An entire galaxy shot through my humble veins. When I met him, I knew he was a paradox of infinite possibilities. I was a supernova, ready to explode at once. The words he spoke typed into my flesh with a burning desire. I wanted to know more and he wanted to tell me. We orbited a leather bound book, levels of love written in black ink. The scrawl I had heard him speak in, he wrote in too. Scattered thoughts and ideas far more organized than mine. I was the Milky Way.
