Here we go, melting like stars on the canvas of the sky. Wind splatters us. Comets smear us into trails and tears. The sun blinds us and shrinks us. We are lambs next to its lion's mane. Blackness does not exist. Darkness is subjective. We are made of light and fire and passion, surrounded by infinity, though we ourselves will end. Here we go, glittering, sparkling, twinkling, glimmering, gleaming. Fire can not burn us for we are made of fire. Even if we are just dust, even when we are nothing but stardust and ashes: We will always be.
