Celestial vivacity; a common misconception.
We write odes and sonnets to glorify the speckled sky.
It's not the romanticized effervescent glow that consumes me, it's the preceding invisible chaos.

When I say you remind me of the stars, I'm not referring to a sublte glow, one the same as the next, soft and graceful. That's not you.

You are infinite, scorching luminosity, passionate hearth with a vindication of incandescent eternity.

You see, you saw the stars for the story they told and appreciate each particle of gas and dust that gave us the option for passive freedom to glance at these historical records of meticulous detail and chance, in our ever changing interstellar medium.

My ode is this-- do not glance passively at the night sky. Instead reach for each piece of the collapsing core of our stars, clasp it into your palms and appreciate holding both creation and destruction in all absoluteness.