Why are stars romanticized to
such cliché extents?

When you get down to it,
we sing our ballads to massive dust storms that
have been dead and stagnantly
uninteresting for eons, immense and
relatively unattached particles of a substance
that remain in the place of its demise not by choice
but rather
by its very design, separated
from others of its kind by
the charismatic pull of the universe.

And that is why we find them so familiar that we give them
our hands and our hearts -

we recognize ourselves.

And these immobile puffs of smoke in the sky shine
as brilliantly as they do when the lights go out
so as to see in us what they used to be.

Maybe even to see in us exactly what we see in them.

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