---

Little Galaxies

---

Etched in my mind are moments from the past rolling like scenes from a familiar film on a dusty sheet hung in the cellar, never to escape the home they’ve made for themselves. The beautiful, the treacherous, and the in-between. Like a black hole, motion and chaos surrounds the event horizon—the vacuum enveloping little bits of light from nearby stars and comets passing by, while some stars fade into the distance as space expands into infinity. But these particles of light they shone, never really dying out, remains in the blackness waiting to be remembered while stumbling across an old photo, or when a certain song plays, as if to validate a moment’s meaning. But the boundary between space and the abyss is infinitesimal—unseen, unheard, unknown. And so I ask myself: am I nothing more than a collection of experiences? Capturing little bits of other stars’ light only to have it all erased by Time itself? No. I am more than that. Otherwise the void would have never existed. Nor the stars. Nor the planets. Nor the comets. Not even these words. And so I ask--you, and me—let us see ourselves for what we really are:

little galaxies.