Made at the cost of stars.
That's all we are; if they hadn't died none of the elements needed for us would have been created.
We're ghosts. Grave robbers.
Wearing skins made from stars, we are full of stardust.
Processed over billions of years until their death in order to make you. To make us.
Made at the cost of stars.
And when we die in turn, all that we are is returned to the universe.
Through our lives we yearn to return to where we come from, only to neglect what we carry around inside us.
Outside and in. Throughout.
The cosmos. Star stuff.
That's all we are.
