You are not just a person.
No, you are not.
You are not even your emotions or the words you say or the tears you manage to shed.
I look beyond your skin, flesh, bones and the tones or pigments that decorate them. I feel the histories of your bruises and scars, the fear in the habitual peeling of skin and tiredness from the lines across your palms. I sense beyond the gaze behind those brown eyes, the strength of your trained legs and the intensity of thoughts within the skull.
You are an entire universe on your own.
The way your tiny planets inside revolve around your beating heart of red and gold. How your lips draw into a smile as the sunlight spreads across your face during dawn. Me, mesmerised by you having a natural rhythm to everything that you do, but you do not notice it at all. You do not ask yourself why. After all, that is like questioning why we breathe oxygen and salute the sun.
The stars are in your eyes, and if I look close enough, I will spot the Milky Way. Form a couple of constellations. Observe which is burning brighter than the others. Wonder if they ever die when I am closer or away. Get lost in space. Float.
And the different territories shine from under your skin like a hidden map of treasure and affection.
I submit to temptation. Who doesn’t like an adventure?
Visit the tender elusive moon of the night and enjoy the beauty of shadow and light. Dancing on the cold surface of Pluto and being careful not to break it. Burning myself and let the wounds sting on Mercury. (Accidents happen, and they heal. Sometimes.)
But right now, you are just a chance I am not willing to take.
I am not a trained astronaut, and this spaceship is just not taking off. I cannot breathe and I am afraid.
Maybe I am too small to take the big leap for mankind on the moon. And you are too complicated for me to grow into.
(P.s. Before you, I never knew foreign galaxies could taste so bittersweet on my tongue.)