Sometimes I wish I was a star.
A furious heat travelling light years just to kiss your face.
A warmth that lingers on your skin even after my death.
Sometimes I wish I could live past my own mind.
Escape this body that I've been trapped in.
Touch the people around me that I haven't even met yet.
You look up to the sky and say, "What a time to be alive."
I watch the stars with envy.
When they collapse people study them in awe.
I wish I collapsed in such a beautiful way,
Becoming a nebula, a cloud of dust,
or a black hole, an inescapable place.
Instead I'm left to decay and rot.
There is nothing beautiful about my death,
my destruction, my collapse.
I am not a star.
You do not watch me in awe.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
Non-Fictionas the title suggests, this is legit going to be my diary. and yes, most diaries are supposed to be secret, but I have always been an open book. I like to pretend to be mysterious, but the people around me will all tell you that I am someone who do...
