Not everything is meant to happen. As much as it seems like it’s written in the stars, you are holding all the cards, but the stars… they don’t always align and those cards… well, they are nothing more than paper. We hold them like a full house, a split deck, shuffle them with wishes, hoping this hand is lucky. And they fall. Don’t they always fall? The stars never really do. I’ve never really seen my name written in the sky anyway. The stars never promised anything to me. But these words come out. They split my heart, spin around in my chest, flick my throat, I always choke. And so I let them pour out, pen them down on paper. For what? I have to question what it’s all for anyway, because it doesn’t always feel beautiful, the way words should, or maybe how they could, if they didn’t grab my spine first, and twist it into pieces. I am bent sometimes, holding the pain like saving a place for this bookmark made from the pain, the pieces, my spine, this heart, these words. And where do I put it all next? What do the stars say? And what are these cards for? Because I am so tired and maybe tomorrow isn’t part of the plan. Maybe all of these words are nothing more than just words and tomorrow they’ll be gone like time. It moves too quickly, but sometimes so slow. And I feel like that moment between time flying and stopping, that place with nowhere left to go. Swirling around the time and the words that always exist, but not really. That long road at night that never seems to end and the one you drive during the day that ends too soon. I wait there, in the middle, no destination. Only existing. But sometimes I’m holding the cards and sometimes I look at the stars for any kind of message at all. I only see a sky as empty as my hands. It screams in silence, bleeds with storms, speaks in lightning, the thunder roars. And it’s all lost in translation or maybe that’s me. Either way. I have spent a long time searching for purpose, for meaning… for anything. I only have these words. I only have time, however long that is. It feels like nothing sometimes. It feels so heavy sometimes. And I just don’t know how the universe fits into such hollow spaces. My heart is heavy like the whole world sits inside, but god… the emptiness tells me I’m such a liar. And I’m tipped over, falling like I always do. I am a two sided heart, spilling galaxies, spilling nothing. There’s eight million worlds inside, some say everything, some say nothing at all. The sky in my eyes speaks every language, and my heart says, there’s no room in here or it says, there’s all the room in the world. My voice got lost somewhere along the way, but my throat still chokes on all these words with no place to rest. I throw them to the stars, place them in the cards, let them go away with time. They always come back and call me home. Sometimes I love them even when it hurts. Some days I call them home, even when they hurt. Even when they always hurt, I hold them like home. I hold them like the stars told me to do, when they wrote my name across the sky, and only offered a Storm for me to translate. There’s thunder in my throat and sometimes it sounds like words. The stars pull them out, my hair turns to knots, I swallow down hard and the universe dances inside my chest. I always feel it. I always don’t.