You were a constellation

You were a constellation-
not just a scatter of stars,
but the map I traced on the foggy window of my mind.

Each light a secret,
each secret a doorway,
each doorway a place I wanted to call home.

I didn’t fall for you like a comet burning out,
I rose,
weightless,
drifting into the gravity of your glow.

Your laugh was a ripple in the night-
small at first,
but it broke open the stillness
and filled it with music.

Your touch was not fire,
but the warmth of a blanket on a January morning,
the quiet promise that maybe
I wouldn’t have to face the cold alone.

And your words-
God, your words-
they weren’t just sentences.

They were strings
pulling me into an orbit
I didn’t know I was searching for.

Every pause between us felt like the space
between lightning and thunder.
The kind of silence
that makes you lean in,
waiting to be awed again.

And here I am,
still tracing your patterns
in the sky I call my heart,
wondering how you turned
every “what if”
into a “why not.”

You were a constellation,
and I?
I became the sky
just to hold you.