Stars complement the night in silver disguise,
small quiet fires scattered without a sound.
The way you complement the quiet parts of me,
the parts I kept low, the parts I never showed around.
Clouds accent the blue of open skies,
soft brushstrokes drifting where the light gets thin.
The way your laughter colors everything I see,
and somehow makes room for who I’ve always been.

Before you, I counted stars from far away,
distant lights I never thought to chase,
names I only knew from books, from maps,
from someone else’s traced-out space.
Now because of you, I reach for them each day,
not because they’ve come closer, but because I have grown
taller in the reaching.
And I find that reaching is its own embrace,
a kind of arriving that needs no teaching.

They say the sky’s the limit, but they’re wrong,
a line drawn by people who never looked up long enough to see it move.
With you beside me, there’s no ceiling left at all,
just altitude after altitude I’m learning how to prove.
Every constellation hums a quiet song,
one I didn’t know the words to until you were near,
and every falling star, I hear you call,
not gone, just traveling, the way we’re traveling here.

So let the clouds keep their soft blue disguise,
let them drift and shift and never quite stay still.
And let the stars keep burning where they are,
patient, certain, doing what stars do, what stars will.
Because of you, I finally touched the skies,
not by leaving, but by learning where to stand.
Because of you, I learned I was a star,
not the brightest maybe, but one you’d recognize,
one you’d take by the hand.