2. our brains string together branching stars like fairy lights, beacons through the uncharted darkness of humanity's last frontier. the brave wear armor made of starched nylon, wielding scalpels as they forage through the shells of asteroids, the red of dying planets, to find the origins of Adam.
3. they only find shallow graves. decaying neurons grow cold, silver, myelin pooling into tear-stained letters written by trembling hands. forgotten keys. forgotten birthdays. forgotten names. stars collapse one by one, an orchestration of color and sound that feels familiar in its chaos, comforting-- like coming home.
4. they bury each burned-out galaxy with their bare hands. tomorrow, they promise to the dirt and ash, tomorrow we will voyage to the edge of the universe, full of bright stars, and we will find a new hope.
inspired by my neuroscience textbook which said something along the lines of "there are more neurons in the brain than stars in the universe."