I'm not quite there yet

If I was to start to love you, whoever you are, you will, undoubtedly, begin to fall for me too. Not because of who I am, but because what I do for you.

You will grin, or perhaps you will sigh, deep, suffering, of my presence. Count my energy in the currency of uses; wait to see how I can fit into your world, a full girl in an empty space, as I rearrange mine to accommodate you. Throw out entire stars to make space for your darkness.
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If I was to start to love you, you will fall for me, because it is the only joy you know. You will laugh, or perhaps you will sob, and begin to find all the ways I make your life better. Make a laundry list of all the ways I can mold you into who you want to be.

And I, undoubtedly, will sit through it, quiet, not-quite-suffering, but something close, something valuable, or was it malleable? I will let you rip and shred and tear until I am the perfect size for writing; will praise your scribbles as if they are anywhere close to the masterful musings in my head.

Until one day, like the big bang, I will whimper and snap and roar, and all of a sudden we will both be cast into darkness. You, because I was the only light you knew, and I, because I let you consume me, until I took light in my hands and renamed it shadow; until I looked in the mirror and saw black holes.

And you, who I began to love and will die not fully-knowing, will undoubtedly, find yourself forever falling in my gravity; not because of who I am, but because I will forever exist in fragments all around you.