when i was younger, my uncle told me
no one could have heard
the big bang happening
because there was no sound in space.
i remember thinking
how sad it must have been
for the people
who lived before any of us,
how their stories were never heard
as the universe renewed itself;
how the love
and light
and beauty
in their lives had to die with them.
when i was younger
my uncle told me there was no way
to save a dying star.
he told me that even the stars
grew tired of our idiocy.
he said that when stars died
they took their galaxies with them.
they’d burst in a flash
of great vibrancy—
and then it was over.
when i was younger, my uncle told me
that the universe was as cruel
as it was beautiful.
he said it waited for no one.
he said it didn’t take into account
the people around it,
didn’t think about
the lives it killed,
the stories it erased,
the souls it took—
no.
the universe was selfish.
it was cruel.
it was an abomination.
it took me years to understand
what my uncle was trying to say.
it took me years to realize
he wasn’t talking about the universe
or the stars— not really.
he was talking about us.
the people.
humankind.
selfish and cruel
and abominations
to the world we call home.
we take and take and never give back,
we destroy everything we touch.
we were the universe—
unkind and unthinking,
incapable of looking beyond ourselves.
when i was older,
i wondered what it was like
for the people who lived on planets
with dying stars:
i wondered if they knew
they would cease to exist,
i wondered what they thought
as they saw that great flash of bright light—
but when i was older i saw that
the stars were the beautiful creatures
driven to the point where they thought
they never mattered
because we were selfish enough
that they never felt loved.
i saw that these stars chose to collapse,
chose to die,
because what good were they?
but i saw that these stars,
these flashes of bright light
were all it took for entire galaxies
to live,
to breathe,
and when they left,
they left in their wake
destruction
and darkness.
when i was older, i realized
that these galaxies were never dotted
on our night sky
they were the people around us
trying to live despite the fact
that their stars had chosen to die.
when i was older, my uncle told me
that new stars were born every minute,
because the big bang hadn’t stopped yet.
and i remember thinking
how unfortunate that something so beautiful
could be born in a time
of cruelty
of selfishness.
i remembered thinking
that despite everything—
that despite the inevitability
of stars dying—
i hope these stars
choose to shine instead.