I hope that you all find the galaxy and a blooming flower in your heart.
Maybe I am the s u n—i am burning. i am shining. yet too dangerous for anyone.
Maybe I am the m o o n—a concept of time. a celestial body of change.
Maybe I am a b l a c k h o l e—i have this pull of gravity that attracts every emotion. maybe this is why I feel too much.
Maybe I am a m e t e o r o i d—a solid rock. falling. falling. falling.
Maybe I am the o u t e r p l a n e t s—no solid surface.
Maybe I am a g a l a x y—everything and nothing at the same time.
I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald
Maybe I will never understand this u n i v e r s e inside me—until I become one with the s t a r s.
Maybe then, I will bloom f l o w e r s.
Maybe then, my s o u l will finally be free from the chain that is my h e a r t and from the cage that is my b o d y.
Maybe I am too i n f i n i t e for my own a n a to m y.
The universe represents our emotions, doesn’t it? It’s a million little stars, a series of wormholes upon wormholes, infinite, vast, indescribable, mysterious.
Scientifically, we are made of stardust. Maybe that’s why we are always longing for something out of reach—like the s k y.