It’s in a stars-filled night that we cannot see. These strange mysterious forces.
I don’t believe in any astrology. I don’t believe my birthday dooms me, or brings me joy. Or wishes me naught but a microcosmic dance through the particles and strings pulling me quickly along.
Along an avenue, a narrow street, an asphalt heat in the misty city’s glow.
But gravity.
Of distant stars and nebulae. The mass of all the sky.
Pulling us up into space. Those distant lights.
Lightening our steps as they draw us to their blanketing wonder.
That I feel.