**- for those who stare at the sky with the devotion of an absolute fool in love, blushing at skies as others do at roses.**

I looked up,

to my northwest, actually.

And felt that strange, sick feeling of being gazed at.

they had put this really pretty shade of pink blush on their crème cheeks — perfectly blended with shades impossible to name, that sat floating high up on those fluffy cheeks,

&

above them were those pretty, sparkling, ‘can-make-you-believe-in-anything-like-an-idiot’ kind of eyes, piercingly looking right through my brown pupils into me and whatever part of me that still believed in magic.

Yeah, the stars.

The blinking, winking, stupidly beautiful stars

that were about to get brighter than ever.

&

The stray strands of hair dancing in the soft wind across those cheeks.

Well, yeah….

merely a flock of swallows returning to their nests, if you insist.

& oh !!

how jealous I was of them — of how they could experience,

the warmth of that gaze,

and the shimmer of those bright eyes,

and the softness of those blush dusted cheeks,

and the face the heavens wear so carelessly,

from just a wingbeat away.

“So was it the sky, or you, staring at me like that, idiot?”