“I’m not going to tell you that,
Because you’ll make it a thing.
And it’s not a thing.”
Do you know what else is not a “Thing”
But should totally be ‘Thing-ified’?
I’m not going to lie with you outside at night,
Watching the stars and the moon,
And a plane or whatever.
Because there’s mosquitoes out there.
Let’s be practical.
You’ll get sick.
And I’ll have to worry.
I’d rather not.
And why would I want to stay out in the cold,
When the same effect can be achieved
I simply look in your eyes?
I see a smattering of stars.
Your own constellation.
A galaxy close-by.
Centre of the Milky-Way.
And those eyes,
They are stars.
Because they burn with an intensity.
Of White-hot fury.
Of white-hot joy.
A smattering of stars.
It’s not a thing. But it should be.
And I’ll try and make it.
Because do you know how annoying it is,
To look at you and know that I may never make you
As happy as you make me?