if you can still hear me

what is it like to know that everything you do is the stars bleeding out into the emptiness of space and that all of those things that they say just don’t matter if you close your eyes and breath in without moving or ever feeling for one second that you can’t do what you’re meant to do and that you can’t ever believe it without the cold hard truth of what you were before all the stars died away before your eyes

and what is it like to feel the warm arms of love and to be a sweet secret that no one has uncovered like an uncorked bottle that floats dismally through the ocean waves and never comes to dry ground where the sands of time slowly and tenderly wear it away like a bird in an empty attic that’s been left for all the other bright and shiny things which glimmer and rattle but are all so cold