An Interstellar Love Letter

Did you know that the centre of a Protostar (the star in the middle of a nebula) is called a Nuclear Furnace? So you can call that the star's "heart". The heart of a star is a furnace. Not much unlike the human heart."

- C. Joybell C.

To my fellow-star tenant, 

Thank you for the adventure. 

Space and time had a fight.

A break in the continuum, a shooting star you wished upon that was already dead.

What you believed was infinite, was empty.

Empty like the vacuum in your heart when they took a piece of you and you let them.

Is there a word for that?

Now that you finally understand why storms are named after people and nebulae are not?

You, you are made of stardust- they crushed you and you let them.

And isn’t that how stars are born?

Crumble. Collapse. Burn. Glow.

The twinkle in the stars you used to wish upon was replaced by the twinkle in your eyes.

Is there a word for that?

What you wish for may destroy you,

Who you love molds you.

But what you could sacrifice defines you.

Is there a word for that?

I’ve always loved metaphors,

And somehow that is always what life has given me;

An interstellar adventure, and time pirates to call my allies,

And time? Time, funnily has always been relative.

Two years, two months, two souls responding to the hurt that was taken from them- is there a word for that?

Time is relative. Hurt? Subjective.

Love? Transformative.

Never quantifiable, always transcendent.

For, what is love if not constellations of memories remaining untouched across dimensions?

What is love if not a fleeting glimpse of eternity that will last forever?

What is love if not free falling, space racing, never running…away- but running towards?

What is love if not a North Star?
What you could always gravitate back to.

I want to go home- back to the star we came from.

You called us star tenants.

We shared the same origin star; we embarked upon the same voyage light years ago.

(Albeit different pathways.)

But different star trails from the same star could only stay apart for so long until parallel lines and intersecting lines lose their meaning.

The heart knows not of space, nor time, not distance or choice.

Heartstrings unravel, as does the fabric of the universe- a break in the continuum yet again.

A paradox of love, called love.

Fiction- A black hole is a passage through space and time.

Fact- 1. Time stands still, making darkness perhaps the perfect place to love someone.

2. They are hugely dense objects, with an ineluctable gravitational pull. When you fall, you fall forever. You see forever. And, there’s no way out.

Allow yourself to succumb to the vulnerability.

Allow yourself to succumb to the fall.

Allow yourself to let someone catch you.

Allow midnight to become the easel you aligned your stars on- to write of your future limitlessly, like the artist and writer you are.

Reel yourself back in, the pursuit of happiness is but a secret locked for safekeeping with the diamonds in the sky.

There it is. Against the dark sky, a ray, an age-old ballad- of science and faith, love and hope.

White light. A million colours briefly splatter across the easel, an aurora lasting all of eternity.

Preserve it and cherish it while it lasts.

Space and time had a fight.

A break in the continuum, a break in the opposite end of the spectrum.

What you believed was infinite was unwritten.

Unwritten like the rest of your life before you.

Is there a word for that?

There is a word for that.

Love,  

Someone who doesn't see a black hole as a dead end anymore.