Whispers of Distant Stars

There's a saying that stars are eternal witness of human existence. Stars will last for aeons, while we human lasts less than glimpse of an ever-expanding universe. Humoring the fact that our mortality will never exceed celestial bodies implies that they will remain, while we fade away, reducing into ashes. what our ancestor witnessed aeons ago, we share the same fractions of what they might have witnessed. meaning transcends time as we become more aware of how small and everlasting existence will be.

‎‎Sometimes, I wonder, do stars get lonely? are they aware about themselves? being virtually eternal, I must be honest that I envy stars. despite there are no evidence of conscience on a star, I can't resist not to personify their beauty, to give them the ability to share their opinion of themselves. they gather in unison, articulating beauty and aesthetic to the indifferent, dark and cold space itself.

‎‎I know that some stars, when they die, I  will dissipate and collapsing itself into nigh-nothingness, altering space and time surrounding. some bigger mass will give birth to phenomenon bigger than the death of itself, the black hole, if you might say. their death will destroy everything and give birth to something undreamt of. 

Oh how I wish I could travel beyond laws of physics, wandering the stars and galaxies far, far beyond our comprehension. no amount of telescope will suffice the beauty of witnessing distant stars, whispering their presence, silently whispering, "we are always here. for you, the one before and after you, we shall be. unfazed, whispering in cosmic silence".

‎No amount of high-res picture will depict true beauty; the unreachable dots in between celestial nothingness. as the void declare that they too, will serve their time in existence, I too, as human being shall give in and embracing that my brief time in this world will only meaningful when I am become aware of everything I give meaning to. and how I wish that this thought will transcend time and space to reach generations beyond my time. whispering, albeit silent, corresponding to someone who will be contemplating the same muse as of me.

May 10th, 2026

To you, Sara