I am not the stars.

His fingers traced my skin like it was a map of the world inscribed in braille. He traced me as though I could show him places he’d only dreamt of and for the life of me I wish I was the map he saw.

With every place he seemed to find, I only got more and more lost. I felt like I could be anywhere at all – or nowhere.

He made my skin feel like oceans and seas, like it held in wondrous creatures and beautiful places. The reach of his arm traveled as though he might find diamonds and silver.

It was the land of my lips he found. My hands holding sand. The stretch of my neck had winding rivers and my torso had mountains and coves and caves. It was as though he saw me as another world when all I felt was so small.

In that instance he made a world out of me, I wondered if my eyes were the stars he never touched.

While I felt so far away and he saw me so close, maybe I was more than I had felt to myself and maybe he held the reflection I couldn’t see.


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