I like to think of us in metaphors: you’re the sun and I’m the moon; never meant to collide. Your freckles are stars, dusting the clarity of the night’s sky. Your mouth is a black hole; every word you utter pulls me in. But we, in all of our entirety, are a supernova; and eventually, we’ll burn out.
This is a work of creative fiction, created for the prompt: space.