Twins If you were Castor, I was Pollux; twins that became the stars. I wish I could have shared my immortality with you, but my father was no greek god. Maybe if my father had been Zeus we could share the skies at night, our hearts on fire for everyone to see, but that story has already been told. It has been told again and again, the twins that loved each other, the partners that needed each other, the duo that became singular. Yet, they always reunite eventually. The scent of you has faded from even the ugliest of your clothes and I'm not quite sure what now I'm meant to do; the only home I ever knew was you. Although not born of the same womb you and I were clearly forged in the centre of each other’s souls, or maybe it was just that you knew me better than I knew you. Is it possible you could read my future from the crevasses in the palm of your hand? My #life line is short and yours was long, so surely I was meant to take your place. When you died in a way my #life ended and you will live on in my memory long after I have forgotten myself, so perhaps the palm readers were right. Perhaps filling the void in my chest with boys that look like you and girls that definitely don’t is not a good idea, but it is the only one I can cling to now that I have fully accepted that you are not coming back. I ache for you in ways I have never wanted to feel, I didn’t know the human body could contain so much heartache that breathing becomes in impossibility and opening my eyes to the harsh light of reality is enough to make me want to blind myself forever. There are times when I choke out your name and my throat feels scalded by the fires of the stars that you surely have wrapped around your form. There’s a place for you in the sky, there has to be, and for me in the void between the stars that take your shape because I could not leave you again. If you and I were fiction we would be a story told from mother to child, a warning of the dangers of loving too fiercely, too strongly, too desperately.