I know we see dying stars as hours we still have to study the roads her fingers make when she blushes, how another gray sky is the missing phone call to the song we haven’t been able to stop singing. I know these thoughts have been more smoke you can’t exhale, that your name sounds hollow unless pressed between the foundation of your front door and the moment you let your skin fall to the floor when she smiles. how today has already bought your aches, and the weight of your pen dulls the authenticity of your tongue. but you’ve held me in the collar of your words before, so I know your reflection is just dandelion hopping for a wish to fall in the gait of where she still lives. and if these words one day become the very rocks that can’t say hello, if these nights thread a blanket that doesn’t stop to kiss the twinkle in winters heart, if we’re just dancing to avoid keeping our feet on the ground, darling, there’s one thing I know - you’re a myth worth dying for.