“Maybe fate wins here. We’re all doomed in the end anyways”. {photograph by David Hayward |}

she has the universe tattooed on her skin
the earth revolving down her sleeve

the coordinates etched into her heart
the constellations sparkling in her eyes

she sees the cosmos through a lens of magic,
inspired by the depths of the unknown

look into her eyes,
and you’ll see the map to her soul

she admires the world,
but he admires her — his world

plan ○ et

plan. she has plans. she has goals, aspirations, dreams. she dreams of running through the woods, climbing the mountains, kissing the sun. she dreams of witnessing nature. he dreams of her.

et. he adores her. he adores her et il l’aime.

my momma calls me a star, she says. so why is gazing into the mirror at night not the same as gazing into the sky at night, she asks. because society sees more perfection in the unattainable than in the ever-present beautiful, she was told.

starry night:

let’s play connect the dots, he says. he grabs her hand, gliding it across the sky. 
he teaches her the signs. 
what do the signs tell you, she asks.
they tell me it’s getting late.
he kisses her forehead. she kisses the air goodnight. then they fall asleep.


he studies her face. your freckles, he says. 
the sun illuminates her complexion. her freckles glow as brightly as the stars.
the stars are never lost with you, he continues. you carry the constellations on your face…
…and when you’re lost, look into the mirror. your eyes sparkle for miles, follow them the way you’d follow a lighthouse.

so she finally starts living:

she reaches for the stars. she misses. she touches the sun instead. she flinches. her hands burn. she places them into the ocean. the salt stings. she waves them in the air. the wind hits. she waits. time heals. he kisses. he seals.

but the scars never fade.

and then life threw lemons. living turned sour.

she was bold. now she’s timid. 
she wears chains around her heart, cuffs on her mind. 
he was fearless. now he’s scared.
he wears shades for his eyes, pours concrete into his ears.

makeshift body armors.

this can’t be real, they think. the world can’t be this cruel, can it be?
some things don’t make sense, she says.
he’s frazzled. is that why Earth isn’t perfectly round, he asks. because some things just don’t come full circle?

what happened? 
beats me. some things are too complex to be spoken out loud, some too vulnerable to manifest into writing, and others too unnerving to even admit.

with forlorn hope, they continue. 
terra firma, yet they stumble
nature is an escape as much as its a prison

it rains. 
dance or drown
so they stop 
close their eyes
let the darkness tattoo the back of their eyelids

petrichor is the smell of rain
and bliss is the feeling of a soul cleanse
cycle restarts. humans reborn. life replenished.
and this time they dance.

but the stars still don’t align. because if they did, they wouldn’t be star crossed lovers.

the end.