Maybe to him I was a star: I was always there but to him it only seemed like I was only there sometimes; for he could only see me in his dark.

I was a star to him because when I stood next to him, he'd take two steps back, all the while claiming the reason for doing so, was that I was (too luminous, too lurid) too overwhelming up close and that he needed to put a distance (so vast and unforgiving they could call it space) between us.

To him I was just a star but I longed to be the star; I craved the idea of being the sun. For I'd always be this burning yellow orb (a star), but I just needed to be his sun. I wanted to be the one he remembered in the vibrant morning day (as the sunlight), as well  as the soothing mellow night (the reflection of rays named moonlight). I wanted to be his star.