to the moon and the fault in its stars

i looked at her as if she was a flower 

that grew along every other brook

making it look a little less obvious that I was adoring her with all i have

and more of just a random check 

she seemed to be built of ruins and disasters

and stars and some 90's songs

which i often listened to 

hoping i would feel what she felt

when she listened to them

but i never felt as content

maybe because she found a home amidst the lyrics?

because the real home never felt like home?

*insert a sigh*

all i could do is assume.

her small feeble hands seemed to dissipate when touched

which was an obvious reason i didn't do it often

although i felt like caressing them all day with mine

but i let that yearning stay like that

she wringed the clothes with the same fragile hands

and fluttered them to stealthily spatter her tears away 

i tried gathering them but it felt like it's June

because within a moment, everything evaporated

so i pretended as if nothing happened at all

and she picked up the next cloth

fluttered it with all her might

leaves it to dry.

i laid my head on her shoulder

expecting to be caressed like the five year old me would-

without realising how different the air had become then

neither did i smile boundlessly anymore,

nor did she had it in her anymore.

i sighed and stayed there, still

but without expectations of being cuddled then.

i still wonder what ran through her head 

when she cooked. 

i wonder if she wished she could answer to the 'how are you's honestly 

instead of nodding her head joyfully like a kid. 

i wonder if she cursed her fate

or felt grateful to have had a life better than thousands others.

i wonder and keep wondering

without realising that her eyes were too pure to reveal her secrets.

she was made of the most beautiful bits of the universe

and by no means was she made to bear charcoal stains on her heart

and oil splatters on her hands

perhaps, there were no fault in her stars but fault in the stars themselves.