I told you I was scared of the dark. You drew galaxies on my hand and told me that the shooting star is your burst of love for me. You told me that when I stay up awake late at night without you, I should go and count the stars laying out on the blanket of the black sky because those are all reasons you love me. I tell you that it gets cold, and you tell me that the wind is actually you blowing kisses to me. I don’t believe you because I’m too cold to think about those things. You tell me that whenever I’m lonely, just look at the moon, because it’s you singing me a lullaby to tackle my insomnia. I asked you what do I do when the moon isn’t out that night, and you tell me it’s just you playing a joke, telling me to deal with the dark alone. I think you’re mean, but I still love you.

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