It has to end like this.
The sun swallowing the world we created and all of our moons becoming so full on our promises, we turn into monsters.
I swear I wanted to give you something
better than this.
I wanted to paint the sky you saw in me, and I wanted it to be the color of you staying.
But you’re a paper kite disappearing
inside of a black hole, and I can’t follow you into something that won’t let me back out again.