The star

When you think of love,
Do you think of me?

Each star has a story to tell,
at least that’s what I would like to believe.
Maybe the star I’m staring at,
has a plant sprouting on it.

Would it be different this time?
Nobody knows until the plant bares a flower.
Risk it all, they said.
Not knowing it could break the star.

The flower was there,
Beautiful from the outside,
Tall, colorful, and happy.
Who would’ve thought to look at the stem?

What pleases the eye doesn’t always please the soul,
The plant seems to growing uncontrollably,
And the star seems to be losing its breath.
It is for a good reason, right?

The plant seem to have a disease,
disease that left a terrible scar on the star
disease that the star can no longer have sprouts.
The trust has been broken, what more exist?

Hope watering a dead plant,
could somehow bring back it to life.
Surely.. some day..
maybe now.. or never..