The rift tore open, and you dissolved
flickering beneath a separating veil
your shadow bled on cosmic floor.
I licked sharp static from my fingertips, tasted
a world you do not know. One single set of
footprints in magnetic snow.
Perhaps we might brush shoulders on a dying star
where space trash crackles beneath our backs
and black holes hum your endless name
Not just the echoes of it.
I watch you fly in every comet
an afterthought in every world lost
at the edge of mine.
These constellations of regret
throw strange shapes across the night
when somewhere, you exist - full-boned,
leaping, not just pieces of you, somewhere
atoms practice form in gatherings
of dust.
Tag: space
A trillion dead souls
“Stand amongst the ashes of a trillion dead souls, and ask the ghosts if honor matters. The silence is your answer.” – Javik (Mass Effect 3)
The sky is full of moving light. Not stars, but flares blooming in the sky, each incandescent burst of crimson a searing cry for help.
Lives and universes eclipsed in violence. We used to reach, hopeful, to the stars. Now weapon fire arcs between worlds, leaving trails of incandescent tears.
The hull of the station grins open. Meteoroid scars, as expected, when faced with stoic determination. But gashes bubbled with molten metal are the will for change twisted into something monstrous.
Inside, there is no gravity, but we all feel the crushing weight nonetheless.
In zero-g, blood doesn't fall, it clings.
I switch on the satellite comms looking for connection, any transmission not choked with fury and tactical snarls. Orders spat through teeth grilled in hate. I contemplate ripping the comms unit from the bulkhead and hurling it into the unjudging dark. Replacing the poisoned words with silence, with emptiness that might make space for something different.
On the viewscreen, a planet looms. It should be a jewel – swirls of blue and green, a cradle of life. Instead it’s ribboned with smoke and amber glow, the cold fire of calculated ruin. War, that ancient infection of humanity, metastasizing across the galaxy.
My air recyclers pressurize and release, a mockery of the steadfastness of breath. We were astronauts, explorers... but today, we are nothing more than soldiers tethered to a metal tomb. We drift, waiting for the next command, the next atrocity – caught between the dispassionate void and the relentless hunger of war.
On the observation deck, a young recruit clutches their stomach. Their first journey among the stars, and their baptism is one of vomit and despair. This was not in the brochure. This endless dark was supposed to be filled with wonder.
I steel my face, open the hatch, and cast aside my hope. Maybe someday, someone might find it again in a forgotten crater. Maybe they'll have reason to believe in real heroes with good hearts. In the inherent justice of the universe.
Photo by Jongsun Lee on Unsplash