When I Look Up

Sometimes, I forget
that we are a minuscule part
of a vast, unknowable cosmos,

that we live in a human zoo
of our own design,
where concrete leaches life
from our souls,
and pretty iron bars
cage our hearts.

I forget that somewhere
beyond the artificial lights
we’re so proud of,
there’s a celestial fire
burning overhead.

But when I get the privilege,
and yes, it is a privilege,
to look up at the unfiltered night sky,
into galaxies, not just stars,
into magenta clouds of cosmic breath,
I remember that my wild heart
beats only for this.

I remember how small I am
in the best possible way.
How tiny my fears.
How insignificant my worries.
How even my broken heart is nothing
compared to a sky full of
white-hot diamonds.

In that sacred moment,
every golden thread
that holds me together
dissolves
taking me with it
like a falling star
fading into the night.

It is the best way
to be unmade.
Better than
a lover’s touch.

To come undone like this
is to return to your own essence,
your very own stardust.

I want to be this humbled,
this beautifully small,
so I remember
there is something greater
than all the sadness I carry.

I need to see it with
my own eyes,
feel it pressed against my soul.
I need to know that
even the loudest sob
that escapes my fingers
is a tiny, insignificant note
in the most perfect symphony.

I yearn for something
so vast, so magical,
that if you think on it
for even a second,
the whole world
starts to make sense again.

So I look up.

And I want to keep looking up,
so I can be made and unmade
a thousand times
before I, too,
am called home.

Writing Prompt:

When was the last time something put your life in perspective in the best possible way? What shifted in your heart when that happened?