It’s heavy carrying all of the stars inside all of this darkness. It’s heavy to hold up the Sun and to still cradle the Moon. It’s quite a task being an entire universe, too.
My weary sky paints the darkness each and every night. Indigos, silvers, and navy, they will always be there, painted and lavish no matter the weight of that universe inside.
The stars aren’t as light as they seem. They are shards and splinters that can make your skin bleed. I will hang them no matter the cost to my skin; the only little bits of tangible heaven.
The weight of this universe I grow inside pushes against the Sun and forces Her to rise. Lovely, bright, and warm; rusty red and yellow hues always there to wake you.
Be gentle with the skies you scream into. You don’t know if they’re waging war. You don’t know if that universe took every ounce of strength to raise those pretty lights for somewhere to direct all the cries.