I won't throw you out of your orbit. I won't seize the stars. I won‘t obliterate the sun. I won‘t crush the moon. But I will hold your hand.
I color my nails black and dye my hair red to wear, in metaphors, what my heart wants. The things I don‘t wish to remember, leaking from the tips of my fingers. The things I wish I won‘t forget, clinging to the roots of my hair.