Unfinished

You were like the blank pages
of all the stories I have left to write
But I’m afraid that all stories end
and I don’t want us to
I would always find parts of you
at three in the morning, lost at sea
I don’t care if I drown; I’d pick them up
Just in case you realize home is with me

I know you’re out there, shooting for the stars
and I’m here, where you left me, like a gold that lost its luster
Still, I wait, because we are