the_stars_exist_to_cry past if i could pause in space and let the firmament orbit my thoughts, my glasses pulled from my face in the desperate wind, the blurred stars streaking their tears as they stream down my face. a misheard translation, it's not that their fiery faces are wet with worry. no, it's that caught up in my own gravity, a combination of myopia (now uncorrected with my glasses lost in the fury of this strained metaphor) and speed, the stars they don't exist any more. but no, they must. i cannot be without them, because aren't we all enchanted by their light? our lungs filled with their dispersed longing? but now my face is wet, and i can see. there, they glimmer softly. blurred and tarnished. their tears of fragmented song translate to faint light just beyond. 241101 what's it to you? who go blather from