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What You Give Me

Dear Eve

I, your night sky, still yearns for you. Your brilliance, your energy, were what illuminated me and allowed me to shine. Your warmth enabled me to share more of myself with others. Your light enveloped me, so much so that all my craters and flaws became things of muted beauty rather than flaws. You touched and healed them with kindness and never failed to openly admire them, regardless of the season, the situation, or your mood. You constantly compliment my beauty. And gradually, I began to believe you.

I found myself drawn to you. I mean, how could I not? Before I met you, my nights were cold and merciless. You restored my faith. Motivation.

The revelation that, even after my image as a dust mote pummeled recurrently by the components of time and space, I am deserving. Still endearing. But you were always out of reach. You desired to be alone. Your body is too hot and dangerous to touch. I'm the ray, and you're the sun... I understand that our paths would never cross. In the vast universe, we can only dance in an infinite loop. Despite the distance, I was content with the warmth you sent my way. I was no longer cold. But, as with everything else, stars die. And so did yours. You deserted me. Even after you're gone, I'll be able to see your afterglow... a perception of your brightness.

I'll glance to that mist because I don't want to lose my own illumination, and I don't want to be left cold again. I will remember your radiance, which no longer exists. Because you are a dying star. Regardless, you're still my dying star. Allow me to bask in the last cinders of your comfort. It shouldn't be long until I have to endure the ice and ruthless sessions once more.

From Your Dust Mote


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