We could be eternal if fate didn't rest in our crumbling lungs. The stars in your eyes will eventually turn to dust, but know that right now the imprints of constellations on your skin are the brightest object in the night.
Every story ends and even heroes die.
But know there's something divine in the heart-palpitating chaos of everlasting stillness.
May wild beauty in these decaying words be what I leave behind.