It’s a comforting dream, to be a star. To drift amongst the cosmos and simply be. An ideal escape from the wretches of below, to instead be audience to the specks of dust that busy about, the same dust that would make up the heavenly body but be stranger to their strife and woes.

Oh to be a star, to be absolutely nothing and everything of import. To be one amongst millions, billions, to be signs and omens and prophecies and reasons. To be light and the dark in between, to shine and twinkle and burn.

A comforting dream indeed, until you remember

Even stars die.

~~

Just an abstract vent piece