Look into the mirror.
This is a miracle.
These are your eyes,
Your lips,
The freckles that resemble the skies you’ve searched for years.
I hear people say
“I am nothing special.
I am what came from the ground
And I will return to it again.”
They are wrong.
They came from the freckles on their face.
The endless comets and stars.
The very same ones they wish upon.
Someone so much bigger than ourselves
Carefully placed parts of themselves and parts of so many worlds
Into every pore.
Into every fiber and being that we see.
You are the cosmos.
Inside of your fragile veins
There is a current of galaxies and worlds
Constantly breaking apart to fill the empty spaces.
I heard somewhere that matter
Is not created nor destroyed.
I now see that it is placed somewhere else, as freckles,
Bones, and hearts.
You were an explosion.
And the reason you constantly stare
Into the night
Could quite possibly be just that.
The missing pieces that you once held onto,
Far away in the endlessness of the universe,
Are still in the sky.
That bigger someone who broke apart to fill your empty spaces
Holds onto that indestructible matter,
And one day those pieces will return back to you.
And the galaxies flowing through your arms,
Your eyes,
Your mind,
They can’t help but be pulled toward the space it once called home.
So, no. You are not the ground where you lay at night,
Or the tides that are pulled by the moon.
You are the cosmos.
The black holes.
The white-hot stars that could consume and destroy
Everything in it’s path
And you are everything in-between.