Jump, don’t land.

Don’t you ever wonder what it’d be like to hit those black crescent moons? Ducking and bobbing within each other. Don’t you wonder if you’d fall into their arms, the curves in their bodies?

Or if you’d crash?

And if you crashed, would you shatter or would they? Would you ruin their motions, gentle and consistent, or would you ruin your own? Would you create a work worthy of awe?

Or would you render yourself useless, a walking collection of broken glass?

And if it was you who broke, would you be able to even gather the pieces or would you remain scattered about the moons?

And if you could gather yourself back together would you find the gold to fill in the cracks or remain hollow, an echo of who you were?

And if you found yourself empty, wouldn’t you rather remain scattered? Broken? Stardust in their dark sky.