We had meant somewhere along the wind, 

Whipped carelessly from moment to moment. 

And with a final gust, we were carried 

To the edge of the atmosphere. 

 

There we floated, 

Our loose limbs entangled among infinite constellations, 

And for those brief fleeting moments,

 My heart could finally breathe. 

It pumped my blood faster, 

Thumps grew louder and prouder with each pulse, 

With each inch, we grew closer and became one 

With the bold dying stars lightyears ahead of our time. 

 

But eventually, wind dies. 

It flattens to a summer breeze, 

Too weak to flip even the smallest strand of hair. 

And then, there’s nothing. 

 

Our bodies fall from the atmosphere, limbs trailing behind. 

We are wrenched from our cluster of constellations. 

Refusing to surrender their drifting darlings, 

They claw and scratch at our intertwined limbs,

 But their grip eventually loosens and we sink. 

 

We sink through thinned clouds, 

through thick, heavy air, 

Through the saltwater of the rifting ocean. 

The salt, seeping through our wounds, 

Burns us, paralyzes us, turns us bitter. 

 

Now isolated, 

We float as we did before, 

But this time we float alone. 

Our arms and legs hang free, 

Nothing to reach to, no sun to cling to. 

Just open sea and open wounds. 

And though our limbs now hang raw and bloody, 

They are proof that the stars fought for us. 

That, despite our unforgiving world, 

The universe loved us.