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.
