If I say you're as beautiful
as the Rose Nebula,
then perhaps it's an insult to you,
because as beautiful as it is,
it is still meagre
when compared to your beauty.
Your smile alone
is so radiant and beautiful,
not merely as beautiful
as a crescent moon,
but more breathtaking
than the moon could ever be.
You blow my mind, girl,
just like a supernova.
You cause an explosion inside me
that reminds me so much
of the beginning of everything—
the Big Bang.
Sometimes, I think you're a black hole,
because nothing else can explain
why it feels like time has frozen
when I'm with you,
when I'm around you.
Have you seen how neutron stars revolve?
They go round and round and round,
and somehow,
that's how you revolve
around the chambers of my mind.
That's how beauty and elegance
seem to orbit you,
as though the universe itself
forgot how to make them
without you.
My day after seeing you,
or even talking to you,
is as bright as a pulsar.
You bring not just one butterfly
into my belly,
but a zillion of them,
fluttering wildly
through the galaxies within me.
And sometimes I wonder
how you cannot see
what I see.
How you can stand before a mirror
and find something to dislike,
while I stand here wondering
how the universe could possibly
have created something
so breathtaking.
When others were made from clay,
I think you were different.
Perhaps you were made
from pieces of starlight,
from the dust of dying stars,
from the gold hidden
inside the heart of the universe.
Perhaps,
before the heavens scattered their stars,
they kept one little piece
for you.
And perhaps that's why
even on the days
you cannot see your own light,
the darkness
still cannot swallow you.
Because somewhere beneath
every scar,
every flaw,
every doubt you've ever carried,
there is a universe
still burning inside you.
So, look at yourself again, girl.
Not through the eyes
that taught you to hate yourself.
But through the eyes
of the universe—
and tell me,
how could something
made of so much starlight
ever be anything
less than beautiful?
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