Space Boy | Baekyeol

e l e v e n :: dying stars are still bright

He wrote poetry for me as he laid in his hospital bed.

Two months in and his hair was ebony again, falling in curls across the ivory skin of his forehead.

Remember, space boy. Dying stars are still bright.

Those words would've seemed morbid to anyone else, but inside our infinity; our personal universe, they seemed perfect.

The stars in his eyes still shined brightly even as he sat in that bed, his cold hands entwined with mine.

He sat like art, he breathed like art, he
was a poem.

I remembered some of the words he told me, and how the all made sense now; he stared at the ceiling, whispering to me.

"Chanyeol, do you think there's an end to forever?"

I just sat, dumbfounded, looking in his eyes.

A syllable fell ungracefully from my lips as I sat on the bed.

"No."

Although it was just two letters, he smiled over at me, motioning for me to lay beside him.

The white ceiling tiles looked like a galaxy, just for he and I.

A little universe, our little universe.

For the space boy and the poetry boy.