I have a fear of the unknown.
The idea of space frightens me,
an endless void where what happens to me does not matter.
I am afraid of meaning nothing.
My room is full of stars,
and the freckles mix with acne scars on your face,
and I traced your jawline in the bathroom, whispered how beautiful your constellations are.
You won a bear for me at the carnival,
and I brought it to school.
Nobody knows you gave it to me.
You see me walking around with the bear covered in reflective stars and wearing the blue skirt you like,
the one that reminds you of Veronica Sawyer,
the one that goes with your scary Jason Dean aesthetic.
I am afraid of space,
but I have the constellations painted on my ceiling and walls.
I am afraid of meaning nothing,
but I am in love with you.
Self-destruction wasn't in my hororscope today,
but Leos always were unpredicable,
and Virgos were always irresistable.
How can I have the willpower to say no when your smile only reaches your eyes when I'm around?