Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.
Every time you look up at the stars, it__ like opening a door. You could be anyone, anywhere. You could be yourself at any moment in your life. You open that door and you realize you__e the same person under the same stars. Camping out in the backyard with your best friend, eleven years old. Sixteen, driving alone, stopping at the edge of the city, looking up at the same stars. Walking a wooded path, kissing in the moonlight, look up and you__e eleven again. Chasing cats in a tiny town, you__e eleven again, you__e sixteen again. You__e in a rowboat. You__e staring out the back of a car. Out here where the world begins and ends, it__ like nothing ever stops happening.
Lost at Sea
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Every time you look up at the stars, it__ like opening a door. You could be anyone, anywhere. You could be yourself at any moment in your life. You open that door and you realize you__e the same person under the same stars. Camping out in the backyard with your best friend, eleven years old. Sixteen, driving alone, stopping at the edge of the city, looking up at the same stars. Walking a wooded path, kissing in the moonlight, look up and you__e eleven again. Chasing cats in a tiny town, you__e eleven again, you__e sixteen again. You__e in a rowboat. You__e staring out the back of a car. Out here where the world begins and ends, it__ like nothing ever stops happening.
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Cold comradeship do stars provide.They light the closer, inner sideOf night's vast weight, which, chill and clear,Pulls on us like some puppeteer.Its unseen threads to heads and heartsAttached, it acts us through our parts,From birth's first cry to bent old age,Upon our distant, tiny stage.
There is no shortage of fault to be found amidst our stars.
There is not shortage of fault to be found amidst our stars.
To be angry at the gods is to scream at the stars. Even if they hear, they will not stop shining.
And the geography of the thing--the geography of them--was completely and hopelessly wrong.