we were made from the same stuff stars consist of —
blinding, hot-white brilliance
illuminating the coal-black expanse of sky overhead,
captivating you for the shortest instance
everywhere and nowhere
before our sparkle gradually dulls
without warning
and we fade from the canvas of night quietly,
not a bang, but a whimper.
you'll find it sad, maybe.
you'll wonder where we've gone, why we left.
that is, until,
you find another star to draw your light from
and forget all about us,
the ones who spiraled into the dark.
