The Stars in the Sky are a Mirror

They praise themselves, and that vanity—that self-lust—is the only distraction I need to do what it is I’ve come all this way to do.

The stars in the sky are a mirror to them.

“Look at my breath,” I say. “Watch it twirl and become part of the night.”

But they can’t hear me because I am nothingness; they only entertain reflection.

“Look at my breath,” I say again. “Watch it twirl—watch it become the stars.”

They take out their phones and scroll, searching for themselves, and they find it: they see the lust for meaning and mistake it for purpose.

“I breathe, and the stars expand. I breathe, and the mirror fogs.”

Their phones are dark. Their art is obsolete. Their plight was insignificant.

“I breathe, and the stars dim—I breathe, and the stars sleep.”

They scream; they love the sound of their own voices.

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