Whisper to Me

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Scientists say that we’re all made of pieces of stars.

Never had that felt truer in my life than that one fateful night three years ago. I’d clung to my boyfriend’s shirt on the back of an old dirt bike as he increased his speed around the bend on Meadow Road. When the motorcycle narrowly missed the cat that darted into our path and skidded against the guardrail, I could have sworn I went sailing as high as those glittering pinpoints of light.

Crashing down and leaving a trail of dust in my wake, I stared up at those brilliant luminaries stretching through the heavens. I reached for the promise ring that’d hung as a fixture around my neck, but my fingers only met my collarbone. I was certain my head had burst into flames, the stars low and imposing, as darkness descended upon me. I imagined myself combusting into a fine powder, and uniting with those incandescent wonders, like a dazzling supernova in the sky.

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