the happy ending is you

When I close my eyes, I see bursts of white-hot light. Like supernovas going on haphazardly and tiny specks of stardust floating in the excavations of moribund nebulas. There is an undeniable elegance in the death of astral bodies, a profound beauty in death; it is the only eternal constant. Even Sirius, whose brilliance eclipses our modest sun twentyfold, may have perished aeons ago, and it will take us another millennium to realise his demise. With my eyes shut, entire galaxies unfurl before me. I hold the universe within.

When I open them, dim yellow lights of the bathroom greet me. It’s like the love child of the Sahara and Siberia—extremes personified. Picture traversing a wormhole between these two, warping everything in its path: time, the ultimate inevitability, as both dark space and blinding light swirl through it. Is this the essence of reality? Barren yet so beautiful. His candour is admirable but his honesty could set sand and snow ablaze. While we rally back and forth between these two polar ends, will we ever reach a point in the middle where it'll be perfectly habitable for our hearts to settle and grow?

I blink repeatedly. Having several pauses to explore space. Having several pauses to explore the crack on the ceiling. I must seek my own centre in a world where oxymorons and juxtapositions exist. Where there is no such thing as the 'just right' amount of sugar. You use your gut feeling and sprinkle as much or as little sugar in your tea. The crux of the matter is this: why is the universe behind my eyelids so much vaster than the one I see with my eyes wide open? In my mind, these two worlds collide.

Ouch, my head hurts.