When we found out we weren’t the Center of the Universe
It shook the core of our collective selfish selves.

We called the findings blasphemous
We charged the scientists as heretics
We realized we were less than specks of dust
But worse off because metacognition is unrelenting.

After all these years
The stars remain indifferent to our presence
But we study them all the same
Doting them like a school girl obsessing over a secret crush
Extrapolating their composition while they don’t bat an eye
Humbled at the horrific beauty:
A lonely planet orbiting all too busy universe.