The Facade of Your Stars

Your stars have always glinted a desolate, icy blue in the night sky. Rarely do they flicker, always staying in a constant freeze, only to be obscured by clouds and the occasional airplane. Never do they make a sound. Always watching.

Recently, I took it upon myself to look at my very own stars.

Of amber hue, like sap from a tree, they greeted my eyes. Their color was of no surprise. I thought it logical that my own burned a warmer, more sincere color. 

And yet, I was astounded to learn that color is not an accurate reflection of warmth.

You see, while your stars may glow an icy blue and mine a warm amber, their temperatures are somewhat unexpected. You're a burning cloud of gas hotter than the devil's touch, so scorching, in fact, that you've turned an ironic, icy blue. And yet I remain a colder, quieter amber.

You may look cold, 
You may intrigue and worry the others,

Yet I stay present, alone in the freeze of the night.
appearing oddly warm by color,
but without the warmth of your touch