When a star dies, it takes with it all of its glowing power, its absolutely pure beauty and sheer magnitude, yet it takes hundreds of years for the light man sees in the night’s sky to vanish from our sight. Every night we gaze up to the heavens and look upon something thats body no longer exists in the universe, but the cast of its illumination still spots our vision.
Such is the everlasting effects of one so beautiful in life as to streak the skies of the living for lifetimes to remain, upon which onlookers may marvel for centuries. A star.
Mankind is born frozen to the earth, slaves to the grey, servants to the dreary bonds of the nothingness, day in and day out: the grey, the turmoil, the toil. We search for the heat in every promising figure, clinging to the whisps of smoke that burn off their coattails, holding in their heat until it is no more. We devour their warmth and light, then move on to the next.
But on occasion, a person born of fire emerges, limbs forged of heat, body burning bright in a frozen tundra of ice, leaving footprints of glowing coals in their wake. Their presence illuminates the world and snatches the attention of every single passerbyer. Crowds are mesmerized by her beauty, her fire, eyes turning from every corner, stunned by the woman lighting the earth with her flames, a star.
She pours fire into everything that she touches, burning color into the grey, painting the heavens and earth with new awakenings of light. The cold and dreary landscapes are singed into new life, the heavy clouds parted to the skies. Eyes open from downcast gloom to a different world, a fiery existence of actual life, of living one’s life to its limits, of catching the flame and letting passion and heat run through the veins.
Those touched by her fire are torched out of silence with heat, opening up themselves to a life full of vibrance, of stunning palettes of the earth, and in turn, share the warmth with their encountered, sparking wildfires of discoverers. Once you see the world through flaming glasses, the frost is forever melted. Her fire will burn inside your being until the end.
One can never hold a star in the hand, can never lock away its light from the world. It cannot be reigned or controlled, and so it must be. A star must be free. And so now, my star is free to roam the heavens, to shine her light from outside the realms of the earth. And though her body is no longer, her light will illuminate this world for centuries to come, continuing to reach every corner of the earth and burn in the night sky.
**”That regular moment when my gf asks me to write her funeral speech while she’s still alive so she can read it.
Ps: she’s not dying. Well, technically, she is… We all are, but she doesn’t have a deadly disease. If you will.”