moon and the stars

Dear Heart,

A traveler takes a ride on a big jet plane and arrives in the settlement of success. The heart of a town, a city, and a country. A place where Rockefeller’s and Fitzgerald’s cease to exist.

This is the life a traveler is given. They are born and taught to grow into something where they can thrive and create even more tiny little travelers; travelers that will then become lost too.

Becoming lost isn’t something you dream about nor is it something anyone speaks of. It lasts for a duration of a few seconds per day until you feed it enough. Then it becomes a consistent lurking shadow.

A voice in your head is screaming to be let out. It is contained by guards in slates of metallic iron. It too, wants to see the twinkling lights that hang above your bed. Thousands of tiny lights, so much more than that of a night sky of a John Wayne movie, circulate behind the crevices of your eyes as you fall asleep.

Millions of stars, dead and new, are lost. They search. Search. Search. They want to go home.

Home: a place in which you are born. You wake from a sudden slumber and you’re in it. The world. It’s yours. But other‘s do not want you to have it. Spite and greed fulfill the walls of the world encasing it with a fiery gate. You push, it remains the same. Again, you push; it remains the same.

But what if it were to change? Something that revolves into another thing? Something new. Will the stars still be lost then?

Does something new always become old?

Yes. It does.

A traveler takes a ride on a big jet plane.

Nowhere in particular. Just home.

The world belongs to no one person. It belongs to us all. The lights that twinkle in your head are tickling to fight their way out. Why should you let them?

The world is yours, within your grasp, take the stars to Mars and boot the ass hats and the negative thoughts that conspire against you. Nothing can get in your way unless you allow it.

With love,

Cosmically yours,

Corissa