A rocket ship to love

A poem maybe

In the windy nights of my fear of being alone, I walked the back alleys home with no time and no deadline. Looking at the stars, waiting for something to come save me, praying for divine communication - of course, all of those never turned back. So those lone walks down the abandoned riverbanks became familiar safe havens where my soul could find rest under the moonlight lullabies.

For one night lost in serenade to the nostalgic melodies of late-night phone calls across empty spaces, a star far away - maybe even the farthest of them all - turned her back to shine on my shadow. So, every night after long days at work, longer pointless conversations with uninterested people, I would come back and pray to her. And unlike the god of yours, she indeed replied, with words of hope. Maybe we were really here to love, I thought to myself.

Months passed by, and every night I dreamt of meeting you in your star and holding each other for the rest of this endless night. So, I built a ship - in fact, a rocket ship - aimed straight to your heart. Waiting for the perfect moment to blast into your space, I saw bouquets of red roses dry up on my door shelf, and every day I bought a new one, and every night, it dried up. Until the night I woke up ready for it all, ready, set, in the rocket ship direct to your heart, I blasted into dark deep space.

Combusting through the unknown, I realized I hadn't brought the flowers with me. I looked back - maybe I wasn't that far yet. But we were already millions of light-years apart. I had lost the course to your star; your lingering shine was already far past me.