The Stars' Boy
I need to bring the stars back to earth,
I need to find the supernovas in someone's eyes.
I need to learn how to inhale stardust,
the kind that lives in treehouses at midnight.
My fingers burn, he thought,
they ache, because I miss so. badly.
the fire of fusion.
I miss the gravity of being nothing,
of being flames
Because, he thought,
identity is bullshit
individualism means nothing
when you are burning
in the most perfectly terrible
blindness you have ever seen.
You are not you
because you are the Universe.
You are this explosion of light,
this star, that for one. brief. moment
is everything you have ever lived for
and everything you have ever loved.
And this boy had loved a city,
he had fallen for the way spiked black
buildings cast shadows into the sunset,
he had fallen for its heartbeat
under the cobblestones.
It was a scar on his skin,
a map, one that he ran tender fingers over
because to him
it was more beautiful than any human
ever could be.
And he needed to bring the stars to earth
because they were the only other thing
that he loved, the only thing that made him feel alive:
this tragic, pathetic, glorious boy
with dreams too big for the reality of his hands.
What I need, he thought, what I need is to learn
how to burn here.