Supernova

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.

I thought this was beautiful, and it’s kind of relevant.

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This is a work of creative fiction, created for the prompt: space.