of your eyes, begonia skies

I hope you know that you're worth so much more than the sky in its entirety, as though no other metaphor could possibly carry the weight of you and all that you are, as though no string of words could possibly be enough to carry the amount of beauty, the amount of grace that you encapsulate, you're worth the galaxies it carries in its depths, the milky way, the clandestine worlds that's etched beneath and I could go on about you and the universe alike; but all I'm trying to say is— even the stars move into the arms of better skies; and someday so will you