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Stepping on the Space Between Dreams

Staring through the frigid winter sky, I contemplate the stars,
Countless dreams tossed wildly through the deep blue velvet heavens, the lens into my soul.

They pulse and breathe these steadfast beacons, reliable sources of direction and truth.

Dizzy and tired, my head swirls with possibility and logic.

The stars reveal the depth of the sky the way sun and clouds cannot.

They’re burning masses traversing consciousness, bridging the realities of night and day.

At once my inner thoughts and feelings lay unprotected, dripping from my natural surroundings.

From a semi conscious dream-state, my minds meet and exchange crucial information.

From consciousness, I long for dreams, trying to make sense of my reality.

The stars form a cryptic map.

Curious and discontented, I consent to follow, all the while unsure where I’m heading.

I find myself stepping on the space between dreams and wonder why this path is so obscure.

Grasping at destiny my fists clench only air, fingernails gouging my palms.

My paths intersect and entwine rendering distinction impossible.

Are the stars really intangible white-hot masses extinguished long ago?

I refuse to accept the death of my guides and instead trust millennia of navigational certainty.

I must, for the persistence of starlit nights is my strength.

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