I am old.
Very old.
My birth was a collision of particles in an infinitely dark place,
And it’s funny because I spend half my time blinded by this light
That I’m unceasingly drawn to.
I think I’m in love with it.
But then it disappears and for a while I am reunited with my mother.
My mother is vast, you know.
Full of wisdom itself.
Sometimes she asks me how I am because my cells are silly
And go to war with each other.
I try and tell her I’m fine,
But then I sigh and my skin trembles and cracks,
And those silly little cells fall in and wither.
I need to be careful.
I am fragile because they are fragile.
The light isn’t fragile though.
I am young, but I know I am in love with it.
It is my breath, my everything, my all.
And it makes me feel as if I am all green inside.
Perhaps I am.
I want to rush to the light all at once, but I am shy.
I inch forward.
It gives me time to think, though.
Sometimes the light is harsh.
It burns my silly little cells and they cry out, and sometimes I cry too,
Because they are so fragile and so am I.
They are so small and so am I.
I cry because love is a collision, like birth, like death.
I cry because we are star-crossed lovers,
And I am out of my depth.
In case you didn't get it, it's written in the perspective of the Earth, which is given life by the Sun, but the Sun will also take that life away some time in the far distant future. And I think that's somehow so beautiful.