I am dusty quills, intensity, a little mad professor/romantic; she is fantasy.
I wonder how her world looks, but even moreso, I wonder if I’ll ever be invited in. I think it could happen, but we know this life gives us no guarantees worth the paper they are printed on, the air that has been expelled saying them. No, not with her, there are no guarantees.
She is not made of earth and dirt and foundations – she stands on them (on people like me). That is not to call her cruel or a burden, she is just not made for those things. Still, she is not perfect.
She is just made of star-stuff. I suppose that’s what we all want: someone who is made of star-stuff because when we are with them, we live in the cosmos – we escape gravity, the confines of this mundane life.
The sky is no limit.