The Fault in Our Stars

Coffee stained comforters, tea stained books, tear stained cheeks. These days I am spilling and spilling over. Love and loss are enmeshed in the chemistry of my thought patterns, they dictate the erratic beats of my heart, they create patterns of grief and joy that I cannot begin to traverse. The Universe is unspeakable, stale words cannot do it or you or I justice. I am unfolding and uncurling in nano-second neuron firings, rapid speed moments of life and decay and contradiction.

Sometimes all of the stars align, and we still don’t know how to connect the dots. We still can’t see the constellations. We can count five fingers on each hand, matter and energy and warmth, but they still fail to hold, to reach for yours. The trajectory of your body can’t be traced or predicted or illuminated. These moves have infinite impossibility of synchronization, the miracle of balance and dance and touch overwhelm these fragile synapses riddled with emotion and the outline of your face.

Uncertainty is known. We talk around it, measure its effects, and let it bounce around in boxes made of cardboard and construction paper. I am a bundle of raw material, condensed by gravity, held together by sheer determination, stabilized cells revolving around each other, refusing to be split apart. We are symbiotic, parasitic, purposeful–integers without solutions. We are withheld whispers heard in the dark, pulled through black holes of constants, expanding and accelerating at rates beyond our control. We are viruses and bacteria, spirals of color coded genomes, symbols and formulas.

Will you share your chaos with me? Can we collide infinitely? Can we bend and move around the outlines of our atoms and always ask, Please? Can we pick a place in between the stars that is just ours? Will you meet me there when your Spirit gets too big for your body? Will you wait for me to catch up, wait for me in the dark matter, hide our love there until it becomes so big a whole Universe has to grow around it, just to hold it all in? Will you choose to entangle yourself with me? Choose to be A if I’ll be B, choose to stretch your consciousness so there will never be a space in between the point of me and the point of you? Can we correlate these coordinates, find the buried treasure and bury ourselves with it? Can we become the elements, release the gift of gravity because we’re no longer afraid and no longer need its security blanket heaviness?

I’ll never weigh you down, never ask you to hold yourself together because we are not property, and you are not a mass. We are not tumors, we cannot replicate inside of each other. We cannot be separated or quantified. We are knee patches and promises. We are nomadic magnetic fields of wheat and poppies and miracles. We are meant to fly with the dust, to reflect the personalities of the Sun, to soar next to each other, towards each other, back to the same Source from which we came.

There is no fault in our stars. We are meant to give birth to our own stars, mappers and makers and shakers of our own unraveling Universe. We were created to be Creators, authors and artists of our own constellations. We are our own monuments of Light and Love installed in the sky.


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