Lightyears for a Heavy Soul


We had drifted pleasantly onto comets,
rocketing into black holes and stumbling back out.
“Adventure,” she would say with that toothy grin.
We’d be gliding on thin ice
until we broke into it a hole so dark
I felt it pulling my soul away from my body.
Earth was so far,
and I 
was so cold.

If it could storm in space it would’ve.
It boomed so strongly, even Saturn’s rings shattered,
and its pieces cut me open
like a Truth as calamitous
as the inevitable End of The Universe.

I learned to stop repairing the damage.
Bandages wouldn’t work up here anyway,
so I let the stars sew my wounds shut,
and they still are healing as icy scars
against my sunny skin.

I slept in asterisms,
amongst a different layer of time
I had never immersed myself in before
and it caressed me like the Sun never had,
blooming a softness in my chest
like the flowers I longed to touch back Home.
As long as I was lightyears away from the Storm,
I would be okay.

By Gwen Peralta

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