A blanket of stars (Patreon)

The stars aren't magic. We are. Magic winds all through us, good and bad, stories that we tell ourselves and believe. Beginnings and middles and ends. Experiments and failures. We look up at the stars and the idea of billions of burning gas giants, the idea of infinity, and we explode into possibility. We remember how small our lives are. God, look at that sky. It goes on forever in a way we never can. 

But infinity is nothing. Infinity is dirt. You and me? We're going to die, and we're going to be forgotten. We're so small. We're so small and we are so precious because of it.