therapy art for myself.
when i was a wee nugget, i had those dreams that kids often do, before they’re old enough to be more realistic about their futures… about wanting to be something great when they grew up. i wanted to be a bird; i wanted to be a plane; i wanted to be a cat.
and i wanted to be a star. like the sun. so i could watch down over everything. i could see everything. i could watch history be made over the span of millions and millions of years and millions and millions of miles across the universe.
but that’s not gonna happen. so i have this crippling problem with mortality. and i have this glazed over view of reality, like i’m still part of it? but also closed off. not quite alive. but not dead either. yet. it’s agonizing~
part of me wants to think that when the last of this life burns out, i’ll finally become a star. space dust returning to space dust [plus gaseous fumes, huhuhu]. if i think hard enough about it, maybe it’ll comfort me. and one day i’ll be okay with death. but for now.
shit. oops language