“…you won’t even remember me. Well, you’ll remember me a little. I’ll be a story in your head. But that’s ok: we’re all stories, in the end. Just make it a good one, eh? Because it was, you know, it was the best: a daft old man, who stole a magic box and ran away. Did I ever tell you I stole it? Well, I borrowed it; I was always going to take it back. Oh, that box, Amy, you’ll dream about that box. It’ll never leave you. Big and little at the same time, brand-new and ancient, and the bluest blue, ever. And the times we had, eh? Would’ve had. Never had. In your dreams, they’ll still be there.” – The Big Bang (2010), Doctor Who
The starlight is soft tonight and the sky is bright blue. Though I can never touch you, sometimes, just sometimes, I can see in the edge of your eyes, the entire universe: star systems, and satellites and expanding suns and quasars and galactic storms. I can see the universe and how can I resist? (Don’t blink. Don’t even blink.)
The starlight falls softly tonight. It reminds me of hope and love and despair. Distance becomes meaningless, like time in dreams. And for a moment – that incessant and forever engraved inside of me, moment – everything is still and I can almost touch you. For a moment we are the universe. (And how can I ever let go? How can I ever forget?)
My memories are tangled with dreams drenched in possibilities and star particles. You are telling me about collisions and loneliness and how the universe is made of fire and phoenix ash. You are telling me that life always goes on and that I’m still beautiful.
And for that aching, almost fleeting, moment, I believe you.
(we are not of this world, my Time Boy; starlight falls and the once dried ocean is full again –
just take me to the bluest-blue)