What’s the most beautiful thing about stars?
There’s a billion of them:
two, three, four billion.
More than you could count in a hundred lifetimes.
When one burns out in an endless sea of twinkling lights,
you hardly notice.
The sky doesn’t get dimmer,
The night doesn’t creep up,
Your world keeps turning.
Unless, of course, it was your star.
The one star that warmed the salty froth rimming your beaches.
The star that made the trees green,
the flowers bloom,
the air alive.
The star that woke you with its gentle rays on your eyelids,
That gave you purpose,
that shined its light on the path
you needed to take.
When it’s your star that burns out,
the world grows cold.
The green turns to brown,
brown to black.
And you light fire to the darkness
just to remember what it feels like
to be warm.
The raging destruction of the world you used to know,
the shouted laments to a star long gone,
makes the coldness numb–
but only for a moment.
The nothing returns.
Aching, empty, ice.
There may be a billion stars,
millions upon millions, gracing the harsh violet sky,
equal, at a distance, to any other.
But when it’s your star that burns out,
so do you.
Thanks for reading,