#how much the journals would be filled with poems about bill his muse

[family-discord-server]

You were the center of my universe

ever expanding towards entropy

and I was foolish enough

to think the gaps between your particles

was where I could make my home.

That you created space for me

to exist, slowly surrounded and engulfed

to forever watch you change

in fascinating and intricate ways.

That you slowed in your acceleration

to spend more time

close to me.

So that you did not drift away

too quickly

but enjoyed the process

of spreading out

and slowing down

and cooling off.

So that your temperatures

would not burn me

but kept me warm.

But I cannot breathe

in the vacuum of space.

You cannot control

your descent towards chaos.

You are no longer burning hot

but a cold fire.

Your heat death

will leave me isolated

and frozen.

I am adrift

and cannot make sense

of the closest parts of you.

I cannot see the forest

for the trees are too far apart.

You were my universe

all your unknowns just waiting

to be discovered.

And now, the motes of dust

that were stars

are foreign and contextless.

I can no longer

guide myself by your constellations.

Your stars have burnt out

and scattered across this

empty vacuum.

I cannot tell where I am

except that I am cold and

alone.

I am waiting for the day

or night

or fragment of time

where you will realize

you are unrecognizable

even to yourself.

I pray that when you condense

all your particles will

come crashing towards

the center where I lay

waiting.

And crush us both.