You say, that for a person so magical surely shooting stars would work their wishes for me.
I deny this a hundred times, yet I will embrace it as a truth if it will bring you back to me. This is what you do: without waiting to test the truth of my apparent character, you vanish into smokeless vapour.
Time drifts. I have taken dozens of dandelions by its roots and lain awake for 11:11s but you remain obscure to me. The sound of my breathing is too claustrophobic in this quiet.
Before you took to your leaving, I have expressed my affections: that to me you are a glowing ember, that I drew ever so closely to your brilliant being. You only smile and hope to be so, but tell me over and over to be realistic lest I am disappointed. I wonder now if I have piled upon your shoulders a burden overwhelming, that my feelings a net tangling the feet.
A lighthouse, this is what I will build as I wait for you. If I am to you a light, I will make this stand on a ground where the oceans of many meet. Day by day will I see myself on the edge, writing letters and throwing bottles of hope into the gulf.
If I am to wish a wish come true, let it be that one will come by your line of sight. Small as it is, may it rock your boat and set a wind in your sail to the shore where I stay.
You are a sailor, lost in your distant wandering and let my pieces be the north star that guides you home.