I connected each piece of you, like connect the dots when I was little, save for the red crayon. Though I maybe made a mistake here and there, I decided to hang this one on my wall, or my heart. Connect the dots makes me think of constellations in the night sky, though it felt to me that in constellations, stars looked like they were missing. You were the missing stars, for the spaces in between. I still drag my fingers in the air, sometimes, drawing in the night sky, pretty pictures that I wish I could have shown you in time. My bones are full of galaxies, and I will love you until those stars burn out.

You were the voices singing in unison, when the music stopped in a song. Composed, and beautiful, and perfectly collected. You were the piano and the violin, and the climax and the pause. You were the chillbumps, and the tears, and the applause.

You were the sunshine, and the sin that shown in my eyes, before dusk, when your hands were still in mine.

You were the moonlight, and your eyes put the stars to shame, the night we lay in two different patches of grass, miles apart to view the same sky.

You were disaster and you were recreation, ever after, and if I’m not mistaken, you were happiness and everything in between.

You were the way I swallowed my fear and my pride. You were courage and fear, and all of this the same.

You were everything, and you were more, and I will never forget all of the ways you fixed me.

We were peace and we were war, and the days and nights came and went faster, somehow, when we were us and not you and I.