“They make me think of you,” she tells me, looking up at them. “The stars?” She nods. I glance at her. “Why?” I know why. “Fated.” She gives me a shy look. “That we’re written in them. Something stupid like that.” I say nothing. I’m good at that lately. “If you love a flower…” I say eventually, glancing at her. One of my tattoos, about her, like all of them are. “—That lives on a star, it is sweet to look at the sky at night,” she says, staring up at them. Holy fuck she’s beautiful. All these suns we’re staring at from other galaxies that I’ll never get to see except in the way they’re making
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AW
