Astrophile

Old poem, kind of corny but it serves as a memory of how I used to write about love 2 years ago. ( = ⩊ = )

I’m an astrophile that knows nothing about space.

I only know stars, planets, and celestial bodies which exist,

But I cannot tell you what’s in it, or why it’s there.

Take this as a metaphor for loving things we don’t understand,

just as others love you more than you understand.

But sometimes it’s both. Neither comprehensible or lovable—chaotic.

Like bursts of flaming meteorites coming to crash into the atmosphere,

releasing an anger that could burn bridges.

And it’s this which prohibits others into loving or trying to understand.

But don’t get it twisted, it was never your fault.

We were born from a supernova, a glorified death.

An explosion of a star at the end of its life.

We were birthed from pain and born with it,

we only exude the curses and blessings given by the universe.

Love can be made into an obsession, and obsession doesn’t need much understanding.

You just need to firmly grasp it, and you can make it yours.

But you can never say it’s love without knowing what it is you love about it.

Just now, we’ve come full circle.

An orbit around the concept of love.

So, from one astrophile to another,

Love as much of the universe, and create the colors that make up the aurora.

Be the shooting star people dream and wish upon.

Love and understand why you love,

even if you can’t understand what it is you’re loving.

Fill the dark void of the lonely space.

The world is empty without its stars.