I've always wondered how you do it. You know, how you understand me when I say I want to get lost in the galaxy; to become one of the falling stars that make little girls' wishes come true. Or that fireflies and foggy mornings were created to make my tears fade. It seems absurd to believe that your head is as far up in the clouds as mine.

Or maybe you just get me. Maybe it's not my fantastical ideas that you understand. Maybe it's the longing I use to breathe them. I've always loved that - how we could just talk about fantasy dreams until the sun began to peak from behind the trees. You never seemed to mind when I talked about tearing open my ribcage and letting all the words that I was never able to say seep out of my lungs, or trapping all the seeds from those puffy white flowers and saving them for when my clock stops working and I can't wish on 11:11.

Everyone always said we were a recipe for disaster - that it would never work out. We never believed them. We would always say that us would outlast the sun, or that there weren't enough raindrops in the world that could amount to how long we'll be together. I've never thought of that as one of our fairytale ideas. In my eyes, it's the truth, and nothing less. We will outlast the sun, and I know that for a fact.

Nothing can ever tear us apart. Not those whispering shadows in the back of our fear ridden minds, nor the handcuffs wrapped around my battered and abused wrists, grounding me to my spot in between naive and mature. We'll always be together, even if we're galaxies apart; no distance is too much to handle.

I'm looking forward to those nights, when we're older, that will be spent watching fairies flutter by, and listening to the sound of horses in your chest gallop their way from your heart to mine. And you know what? Those nights will be my most prized possession. They'll become my epitome of true bliss. Nothing could ever replace them on my list of beloved memories.

But until then, we can settle for catching fog with our bare hands and painting butterflies in each others' stomachs. Until then, we'll just have to live with forgetting how to breathe because our lungs are filled with overflowing excitement.

Until then, our hearts will remain counterfeit magic.