Do you ever look at the stars and think...my God...who am I?
The gaseous clouds, the colors...I'm here below and that's okay for now, but I'm not where I want to be and dammit I want to be in the stars. Why can we not have wings, why can we not fly? Purple, orange, maroon and onyx black...where did they come from, so brilliant and bold and beautiful. I think in my mind I have all the galaxies in the universe, in existence. Why can't they be there, unfolding mysteries and questions that roll off my tongue as the comprehensiveness of their being settles inside me. Dreams, yes, dreams come from super novas exploding. They are unfathomably real, yet just beyond the blur of our reality, and so we call them subconscious. But dreams are a part of our being. They do not originate in the air around us, waiting to collide with our minds, no, they originate within us. Super novas.
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