He never showed me the little dipper: A poem for a man who doesn’t know I’ll always love him.

 

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Paint me the moon and I’ll bring you the galaxy.

Give me a pen and I’ll write you a world.

All I need is the ground and the sky,

and someone to lay there and show me the little dipper.

Because the stars shine brighter when we look at them,

and the constelations sing and dance just for us,

because maybe we’re the only ones watching.

but thats all the need to feel infinite. 

The strokes of a brush, paint the stars through the milky way;

dot the craters of the moon.

We need not to examine or evaluate the way they align,

because they would never question the way we do. 

The stars try to remind us of when we felt small,

in a world that felt just a little bit too big,

And that the Moon can’t stop shining when it gets shy,

So why should we.

The sky paints itself a masterpiece, and all the paints blend perfectly,

And the stars light the way for people like us,

who may be the only people who know that there is more,

and who might be two of the only people who deserve to. 

But we probably won’t ever know what we deserve.

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