the heart of your matter is where i am buried. the glowing embers light the night sky and make their way from burning bodies towards celestial moonlight. it is death. and rebirth. and you can’t truly tell the sparks from the stars.
i’ve shut my eyes since i was a kid, to see the spots that light makes in the dark. i have traced these patterns and made them move, conducting an orchestra that fills me with a sense of something that i can’t see when my eyes are open. a connection to something that isn’t. but is.
the magic i search for is the same magic that makes me run and hide. is it death that i fear or is it something else? is the difference between the sparks and the stars the difference between life and death?
perhaps it’s the way that i can’t tell the difference, that lets me know they’re the same.