the faux victory of the stars in a losing battle

i. meteors

I have been anticipating the meteor shower tonight. Before specks of sphere-shaped fire make a show out of the sky, I am already thinking of my wishes.

The view bedazzles me, like the time I looked up at the ceiling of Sistine Chapel, at the visionary and consequential depiction of the collision of human and heaven.

I see those two merge. My youth disappears in a split second, faster than how meteors pass through the night sky, more impactful than the murals.

ii. supernovas

These eyes are a stranger to me. That stare digs deep down into my consciousness in a way all other emotions are present except mercy.

Supernovas are a spectacular phenomenon when you are light-years away from it—never the kind of scorching heat and blinding light. But tonight I discover how it feels like to be right exactly where the explosion happens—something of helpless cries and soulless stares at the heavens. There is only numbness.

iii. galaxies

I wish I could live up to a billion years like the heavenly bodies but that is coveting the right that only belongs to them. Maybe the gods want me by their side.

In my mind, I have traveled the universe and have seen it all. Galaxies are never alone. Its constituents will never leave orbiting around a forceful center unless the continuum goes back to its untouched fabric form.

I have people around me. Some are Earths and some are Neptunes; but galaxies are flat. And maybe that is why they only see the dimension they have situated themselves in.

This is how I probably have lived for so long now. How much time has passed since I have witnessed rays of light bouncing around me and have seen the eyes of Adam in a painting out of my reach?

iv. stars

Someone once told me we are made up of an obscure amount of stars, possibilities, and wonders.

It feels like more than a billion years already.

Fireworks—look at the sky when you hear a booming sound that is not too hurtful to the ears and see a faint-colored, flickering rainbow hovering the concrete—I have become one of them.

— (daisy #3) c // 180516