The Death of a Shooting Star

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I sit here in the comfort of sunshine through dusty windows. Old. Familiar.
Contemplating.
I run a hazy race of memories through moments of happiness and pain and longing and wonder….what does it all mean?
A wild shot in the darkness, perhaps?
A shooting star. That moment of light that streaks though the black of the night sky and if somehow you were lucky enough to see it on it’s journey, you somehow can’t help but watch it to the very end, where its own heat and speed leaves it to disintegrate in the sky before your eyes.
Majestic.
Now a mere memory.
Or is it something more?
Are we something more?

And as I watch the dusty particles dance in the sunbeams streaking through my window, I realize the truth of everything.
We are more than we appear to be. We are less than we think we are.
Even so, we are beautiful, you and I.
And we’ve barely even scratched the surface.





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