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πΊππππππππ πππππ ππππ ππ ππππ π° ππ πππππππ πππ πππππ πππ. Stars in appear high above us, but that is because space is relative. In reality, they (we) are simply everywhere. All around space. And in that sense, I too am amongst them, even as I am attached to this planet.
Something comes over me, though. Something about the moon overhead, winking behind ashen clouds, her lover's light reflecting off of her cratered skin, dazzling me. Making me dazzle.
The watchful eye of my kin, the humor they must feel in the irony of me, a star, watching them in kind.
Something is so delightfully wrong with me, under the pale moonlight. I am giddy and gay and mischievous. I am sinister shadow, I am pure silver brilliance. I am twinkling, inches from death. I twirl and I twirl and twirl, twirl, twirl, twirl some more, as though my axis were nothing more than a suggestion.
πΊππππππππ πππππ ππππ ππ ππππ π° ππ πππππππ πππ πππππ πππ.