Trying to catch, gain stars—not the most relative idea: they had a way of blinding her into this mush of a person, throwing her common sense down the stairs into an unforgotten heap. And when they started to fizz and stutter out right before her eyes, well…she was left in a disappointment like having regrettable intercourse that meant nothing—nada—to the participants.
Why did she look up to them so? As if they were her universe, her air, her being. Didn’t she see they were this burning matter that would eventually blow up in her face? Clouding her in particulates that overwhelmed her scattered senses?
They had this silhouette of greatness, sure…but how great was her great compared to other people’s great? Maybe she had it confused for love, the love that everyone else spoke about, that yearning unbreakable love. Sometimes she felt it…it was a fleeting emotion compared to the chaos of the relationships (if she could call them that) she gathered. Maybe if she attached herself to another star she’d attain it.
But if it were to happen, what then? Live in the sky with all the other constellations? Or washout like all the other stars?
