I Don’t Mind Getting Lost In Your Galaxy

I just love lying here with you, disoriented and scattered. Our tangled legs atop the creased mattress. I think our universe is quite a lot like this, too— all over the place, tangled and messy.

But I don’t mind; if it means I could bask here in the silence with you. I won’t mind getting lost. In your complexity. In all your stupendous beauty. As I trace the endless expanse of your skin distractedly, as though I’m touching the skies.

I’m counting all the formed constellations, pouring over every tiny detail. Darling, you’ve just humiliated heaven’s miracle-worker with the amount of stars that burns across your flesh. Billions of them scatter across the heavens, but you imprint yours into people’s hearts like tattoos.

I don’t mind getting lost in your eyes— the way those black holes helplessly drag me into its realms. And no matter where I am, I always find myself gravitating towards them.

When you open your mouth to speak, oh how your words are comets racing across space leaving me entranced for a few moments. I’m getting lost in your stories— your unrelenting gravity to hold each sentence, each word together. I hope so much you won’t discard these stories. I hope they burn so bright in every part of you. I hope you always paint these boundless skies with the dizzying beauty of all your heavenly bodies known to space.

But most importantly, I hope you make people marvel at the spectacle that is your heart. Make people dumbfounded by the splendor that is your mind. Because to me, you are all these.

You allowed me to loosen my grip on the grand scheme of things. You helped me let go for a few moments. Like the way you held my lungs breathless for so long— enough to make me forget how to breathe.

You made me drink you all up so willingly—I could taste the heavens on your lips.

But I’m still wondering how you have come to make our universe this complicated. Even astronauts could travel a million light years trying to seek explanations for all the questions you left unanswered. And still, they would come back curious and hopeless because you’re simply inexplicable.

Even I, with all my love for astronomy, could never decipher its eternal wonders; could never stop getting lost in it—what more, with you, an even greater creation?

Though I guess, our universe is tricky like this. In all its supreme, astonishing forms— disoriented and scattered— but perfectly right where it’s supposed to be.

And us? I guess we are too. Perfectly right where we’re supposed to be— atop this creased mattress. Eternally tangled against each other.