Cartography
He charts his map
Drawing with the very ink
That fills the dark night sky
He squints through the scope
To gaze upon the heavens
The darkness is a blanket over him
With holes poked for the stars
He predicts their future journeys
He knows their patterns are absolute
Until a shooting star
Dancing, with a flickering tail
Disrupts his perfect chart
And he finally understand that he must go to her
For nothing is absolute,
His plans will never play out perfectly
And she was his shooting star
Gliding across his map.
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