She was an idea.
It needn’t have mattered the color of her skin, the shape of her eyes, the shine of her smile.
She was the idea of perfection born and burning bright.
She was love transcended into a single being.

I was an object.
I was a nothing that realized it was nowhere and decided it had to be a something somewhere.
And she was there.

She was the last cry from a dying universe.
She was an explosion.
She was a star.

I was blank.
A clean, dark, empty slate.
I was the nowhere that belonged somewhere but was never exactly there.

She burned bright.
Like a constellation of beauty and bravery.
She was the ying to my yang.
She was the fire to my ice.
She burned against my night sky.
She was my star.