Of Stars and Words

Lost finally in the familiarity of my bed, I looked out, hoping to see something that would help alleviate the cacophony that had crept into my nerves and skin and bones.

And like diamonds thrown out into the deep dark cosmic ocean by lovers scorned, the stars shone and twinkled and twisted, skirmishing here and there with the heavy air of Despair that has settled that night. As if they were out to caress me, stretching their aching arms across the eternities of the Universe to pull me closer and tell me stories about the worlds in the eons they had witnessed.

Albeit they whispered their songs, I heard. You would think that they would be pretty deafening for a people who are counted by the billions. But no, their ballads had to be prized out of them.

If you tell them that they are beautiful, and they will burn a little brighter, their way of blushing. And then, with a coy chuckle that sets the heavens rolling they will tell you how even the Stars have blemishes.

Quick! Before they leave, confide in them, that they make one question the true importance of human life. And they’ll tell you that nothing matters on a grand enough scale , not even the absolutely irreparably indelibly mad corners of the human conglomerate here on this dusty damned ball of dirt hurtling through some decrepit forgotten corner of one of their many homes.

And with this they will fall forever downward like young men intoxicated by your words, the ones you had chosen so carefully and hopefully. And you’ll scream and claw at your skin, begging them to stay with you through the Night and it’s opaque ordeals and speak of symphonies that brim over with honey and wine and Ambrosia.

But as with everything, they too must go. Every second is agony and anguish now, and the Sun tears through the elaborate silence left behind by the Stars with its blinding and banal gold, burning away the traces of the Stars, as if out of envy.

But let me tell you this. Cling to that silence of the Stars and await their return. The roaring ostentatiousness of the ordinary shall then seem overplayed.