When it’s dark, and I glimpse the stars, I think about the fourteen or so billion years that existed before I came to be and the almost infinite amount of time that will pass once I’m gone. Such thoughts make me realise how utterly small I am, and when the wind whistles through the branches of the trees that line these dim streets, the eeriness gets the better of me. Not that I break down and cry or anything. I’m not one for amateur dramatics, but there are moments when my heart brims with an exquisite sense of sadness that leaves me drowned. Of course, it means nothing, for nothing is what we are. There are no hidden agendas. We are merely pieces of dust capable of love, and yet this is somehow enough, and when life feels like the one thing not worth bothering with, the air in my lungs reminds me that it is. It’s what draws me to those eternal stars. Those tiny pinpricks of light of which I call home. To them, I shall return. To them, I owe my life. It’s a dance that spans countless light-years. Such an adventure scares the shit out of me. Sometimes I don’t want any part of it at all, but the moment will come. It comes for us all. The moment when the light shines on us, and we change from one form to the next.