He is a fire inside your chest, igniting your veins. He tells you that he loves you, but your nights are filled with silence. His nights: dark, lonely, yet with another. How could you not feel the loss of his long body? A body that maps your own. 

You tell yourself that he loves you,

that you are the same fire for him that he is for you, but the doubt is long and wide with icicles of gray.

How long must you wait? You yearn to forget, to run, to feel freedom. But he was your freedom, and the confusion comes again, and there is a choice to make but you can't make it. How long must you feel like a second choice? How long must you feel the weight of the silence at night? How long must you compare yourself?

At night you look at the stars and wonder about the millions of others. Would the ones for you pass you up for this long?

Or would they choose to see you as the comet?