You are the lightning that made me fill my chest with candles.

You are the thunder clapping for the poem that nobody else wants to hear.

You are an icicle’s tear watering a tulip on the first day of spring.

You melt me alive.

You kiss me as deep as my roots will reach.

And I want nothing more than to be an eyelash fallen on your cheek.

Then being collected by your fingers
And held like a wish.

I promise
That whatever I do
I will always try my best.

To come true.

—  Andrea Gibson - How It Ends
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