These useless mirrors, they show everything and nothing. They show your image. They show your tears, but you’re not here, and that’s all I really know. These bags of bones that surrounded like sound, they drown me like the black waves that crawl to the foot of my bed each night hellbent on pulling me under. While others drift through the days as if they were gliding their fingers through water, I struggle from hour to hour, ever fearful of death, and ever mindful that speaking my truth might not be good enough after all. Those stars, though. Those endless and nameless stars. They shine for me, and they shine for you, wherever you may be in this big nothing that keeps escaping us the older and more adrift we get. This big empty, it makes us feel so alone, and we are alone, aren’t we? From beginning to end, we play out our lives as if acting a part in a movie, and yet all we ever are is the organic mess of wonder that looks back at us in the mirror. You could say it’s depressing. You could say it’s bleak, and yet there’s beauty in the lonely just the same as there’s beauty in those tears that come from trying so hard to stay strong in the midst of this invisible war that knows no end. Time is no time, and distance no distance. But there’s love, and love is one and all, even for those that have long since turned to stone. Love. The great redeemer. The great saviour. If you were to put your hand in mine, I’ll take you to a place they’ll never find. If you show me your bones, I’ll show you mine, and against the inevitability of the void that awaits, we will live like birds and sing songs that know of pain and fear just as well as they know of tenderness and compassion, and for embracing what ails in the same manner as what pleasures, we shall become more than human and more than ghosts. We shall become stars.