Celestial Collision

2 min readJun 22, 2023

Oftentimes, I hear that the universe is infinitely expanding, space unfurling in a steady chronology where stars explode into vicious existence and simultaneously bow out in an iridescent splash of synchronous detonations. This encourages the birth and death of atoms that are electrified by every saturated inch of adoration, this unerring process means that with every one of my cells that die new ones replace it, twice as ardently charged, rushing through my bloodstream at twice the speed.

The years crumble through my fingertips the longer I stand, the deeper I sink into his afterword like quicksand. Everything revolves at a constant velocity, an orbit I fall out of nothing is ever scientifically accurate when it comes to loving him, the very dust and shadows I am crafted from in violent juxtaposition to the molten sunshine that flows through his delicate veins I attempt to tangle myself free.

I once saw his reflection in the moon and a whisper of a trace in the way I hung my legs over the railing of a bridge shaky in foundation and yearned for something I can’t identify. Maybe it was the answers to the questions I never dared to utter aloud, swallowing venomous syllables like I would cough syrup. But there he is, solace glowing in the fingertips he brush across my cheekbones I wonder if serenity was supposed to be intertwined with serendipity when all the stories I ever heard were about a blazing passion threatening to consume every particle of singular prominence.

By pythagoras’ theorem the technicalities of our trigonometric ratios shouldn’t align because I travel on wavelengths that scream catastrophic collisions with every destructive bend, and he cruises on abstract sinuous curves that spell out art in every golden twirl. Destiny didn’t mean for him and I to barrel along at such an unmatched intensity, two spectrums grazing against one another in a fatal lack of regard we blur boundaries when we skid against the edge of something brilliantly beautiful crashing headlong into tapestries woven millenia ago, we ignore what’s been laid out for us so we can create our own binary eruption of energy. Some stars never die and some look better, brighter, when they’re vivaciously winking out of existence.