During Cupcake's nocturnal cravings for going outside for walks - which are no stranger to long periods of sitting in place pawing at something invisible on the ground - I've come to appreciate the underrated experience of simply gazing upward.
Stars look like pin pricks across the velvety black swath of space visible to my naked eye. Each of those stars is vastly more powerful than me, could crisp me in an instant with their heat. Some of them (most of them?) are larger than Earth.
The Earth's just a pebble, a dirty one less brilliant than any of the stars that make up the beach of the Milky Way, which itself is just one picnic area amidst the infinity of the universe. And how many universes are there?
How long has creation existed? Our eighty or so years register less visibly than the tiniest dot in the sky, faster than a blink of an eye in the lifespan of everything.
I am blessed, but small.
My problems are not problems.
All I have to do is look up, deep into the patient, endless sea of sparkling ripples above, to remember. And to take comfort in my place in these heavens.
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