A Tumblr post once told me that galaxies reside within my body.
It was one of those 3 AM nights filled with inexplicable loneliness and okay, maybe…hunger.
Months later, when a random phone call informed me that a dear friend took her own life, I did not think about the galaxies.
I did not think about the said constellations around my body–such meaningless names for lifeless beauties.
I did not think about the billions and billions of stars running through my blood, said to provide light because damn it! There are some places I rather not visit.
When the rain wept along with me on that particular September night, I realized Science is once again right.
There are no galaxies–only water and blood. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Because if there were galaxies, I would not feel blankets of heavy water tugging at my feet.
It makes sense, doesn’t it? Because if there were galaxies, I would not feel blankets of heavy water tugging at my feet.
If there were stars then surely, surely, she would have seen them, admired them, tried to live instead of leave.
Do you believe me now? There are no galaxies!
Last week, when my mother jokingly told me to kill myself, I almost told her about the meteor showers sleeping deep within me.
How these cluster of stones can fulfill her wishes and please, please, do not give me the permission I need.
When I woke up this morning, my same old mind telling me it wants to die, I felt like a remnant of a dead galaxy.
NASA said that galaxies are ripped apart when they encounter strong tidal forces–well lately, my sadness has turned into a huge, screaming, tidal force I cannot always battle.
Therefore, Science is right. I am being ripped apart…there are days where I can no longer conjure sentences, a task as familiar as the scent of my bed.
Science is right!
A black hole can cause turbulence in a galaxy which may result to its death. I am scared of the fact that my heart resembles a black hole, building friendships with darkness and misery.
Two years ago, I thought there were no such things as galaxies living inside of me but I have forgotten that half of the stars in the night-sky are nothing but corpses!
And probably what she saw was a spitting image of herself, likely the one I also see in the mirror during the very bad days.
If galaxies were real, I am terrified of the idea that my time has already ended, the stars running in my veins are more dead than alive.
So please, please, do not let the galaxies be real.