When love died, I set it out in the universe— in the infinite meadows of light and cosmic dust; in the cold, deep faces of heaven; and in the calm, glorious shadows of the moon. I let it wander the orbits of listless planets and collide with rocks and angel mists, until it finally explodes and spontaneously breaks out of its rigid walls. I spread it out too thickly like a ravaging wildfire, able to radiate its warmth far and wide, and silently reach the vast spaces between the stars.
I built it a monument in the celestial sphere where it settled and found its peace, a promised eternity after death. It is now part of the gleaming tapestry of stars, an unnamed constellation but with a familiar glow vividly painted by you, gracing my earth with its remaining luminous night after night.
You are my star, the kind that appears one night in a thousand years. A borrowed hope from a wounded fate, I held you so tightly in my bare and grateful palms, fervently praying our light and dreams and love never slip through my fingers. But I can only hope to keep its glow safe in my pockets, because like ashes to which human breath returns, I had to give it back to where it rightfully belongs— to the skies where it will never rust; to the universe where it will always ablaze; and to the heavens where it will live without end.
Since then, I adored the solace of the night. Whenever I gaze upon the immeasurable glittering sky, it always feels like traveling in light years— remembering how once upon a time, that glitter was in your eyes and they were mine; beaming and flaring so beautifully, it held my spirits high. It crawled in my skin and crept in my bones; seeped through my veins, pierced straight through my heart, and dived right into my chambers; until it lovingly burned my soul — it was love. You are love, my sweetheart; and just like the most massive stars, ours was the shortest-lived.
It climbed up the skies, traveled aimlessly, battled celestial wars, walked the infinite and the beyond, and finally sought its paradise. Love found an afterlife. In that galaxy, it will last— sprawling with gases and dust and countless stars— faded, yet somehow still burning bright, giving all what it had left to the skies, to stay there forever, never to face oblivion.
How comforting it is to know that our love will always be here— still with the same flame, yet now tarnished with infinity, immortalized, and timeless— and all I have to do is look up and wait for the starry night.
