she's a goddamn star, a fusion of colliding atoms that meet by beautiful coincidence.
by pure phenomenon, everything and everyone gravitates towards her. the way she is — i don't think i can ever look at her without feeling like i'm in flames, driven to the brink of insanity by those celestial fires.
i try to escape, i do, but every time i try, gravity pulls me back into her orbit. i find myself spinning aimlessly in the cosmos. and for the briefest of moments, i allow myself to think that i'm the only exception that the laws of the universe has allowed — that perhaps i have the slimmest of chances to bypass the realm of impossibility — then i look around.
i'm not the only one here. around me, i see decay, regression, deterioration. the fall of those that have attempted to venture across the cosmos. those that were insane enough to think they were more than just insignificant pieces of matter, that maybe, just once, in a pure stroke of luck, stars would drift towards them instead.
she's not a star, i realize. that is the illusion that we create for ourselves, to drive us towards some unfathomable goal in the disguise of fulfillment, when what it only does is lead us into a pit of desolation and despair.
no, she's only a comet — tearing relentlessly through the galaxy — leaving me, ice and dust — floating in her wake.
