I sat, spliff lit like a tiny sun in my hand, and looked up.
To the stars, to the void, to the hush that hums behind silence.
And I asked —
In all of this, this chaos and order, this pain and pulse…
Am I not all that?
Wasn’t I born of stars? A flicker from the great ignition, dressed in skin, asking questions fire once whispered to stone?
I’m not watching the universe — I’m remembering it. Living it. I am it.
And you — you reading this — you are too.
Written while ****** and staring at the stars — a reminder that we’re not in the universe, we are the universe remembering itself. Nothing more, nothing less. Vazago thoughts.