When I am alone, I dream of nebulae;
interstellar matter
embracing open clusters
of newborn young stars waiting
for their place in constellations. I envy
the way the stars are never cold or alone
or how they know they’ll become useful
someday and possibly become a breakthrough
for the scientists
exploring for solutions
to the mysteries in life. To them, the answer
could be found in gas clouds
full of colors
found in an overly enthusiastic
kindergartner's pencil case.
Dear kid
who excitedly bought the 64 pack of crayons:
I hope you connect the dots
to your constellation.
And while you’re at it, I kindly request
that you draw one for me too.
When I dream of nebulae, I become aware
I am alone. It’s not a sad life, I often whisper
to myself, bitterness
dripping
with every syllable.
It’s an acquired taste.
Just like my love for nebulae.
From the 826CHI Student Publication: Compendium Volume V