You're like the moon, in that people know you're there, and know a bunch of little things about you, but no one truly knows what you are or what you're made of. When you're seen, you stand out. You're bright and shining and distant and different from everything else around you. I'm sure you don't believe you're anything special, but you're beautiful and outstanding and wonderful.
You have so many markings, so many things about you that you probably don't even acknowledge. You have initials carved into you with sticks and bruises and scrapes and entire stories and worlds behind your eyelids.
Usually, when you first meet someone, it takes you about a year to uncover all that they really are. But with you, I feel that it would take thousands, maybe even millions of years to uncover all that is you. And I know that everyone has things about them that go unnoticed by them and everyone around them, and teeny little secrets and daily lies that they tell to keep them sane. I understand that. But you're the first person I've met where all of those little tiny astrological markings that you have seem to stand out as clear as a scalding flame in the dark. You're the first person I've met that seems to have constellations behind their eyes.
The astronauts that surround you know more about you than anyone else, and even that is just a tiny part of you; A little test tube filled; A little clip of fabric.
Never have I wanted to be an astronaut more in my life.
I want to know you. I want to see what you're made of. I want to see the real you, the one that's standing behind the printed curtain. I want to delve into the disguised ocean of your soul and find every species of plant and animal alive.
I'm going to stop using stupid metaphors. They're getting mixed and matched and now i'm lost in a sea of words and leaves and tablecloths.
That sounded odd.