They say we have as many cells in our bodies as there are stars in existence.  
We are each a walking, talking universe.

When I look in the mirror I see the tears have stained my eyes a different shade of blue.
It's the blue of newborn stars all those light years away.
My cheeks, red, are the color of the old stars. The ancients at the end of their reign.
It is the infinite, the vast, the cosmos as the act of mourning. But sometimes the universe is in an atom, the big things are in the mundane and the sadness comes at the small things.
The shoes in the hall, the towels folded a certain way, a sons bumped head.
Sparking tears of star dust and causing our universes to tremble.

We do not only mourn a human being but the death of universe .