Stars Through An Airplane Window

I love stars. They’re beautiful and perfect, and embodiments of everything beautiful, perfect dream I harbour. But they’re so far away – and this is why I love them. Not for the sheer magnificence of the distance, because numbers and figures have never meant much to me. But because it makes them untouchable. An image in a crystal frame that no one, not even me, can manage to shatter. Velvet night wraps them in protective layers, and the pictures of velvet and crystal are beautiful and perfect. 1

Some distant part of my mind knows that stars supernova. But that’s not part of this picture.2

As I write this, I’m peering out of a tiny, plastic window, devotedly ignoring my reflection in favour of the ebony sky. Using my hands to block out the light until they’re cold and achy. I do this because the stars entrance me, and cause I’m bored. Sleep is shattered, like so many happy little thoughts, and airlines are as fond of bad music as I am of the night sky.3

Then again, my choice is really a galaxy of burning gas, so I can’t criticise. It occurs to me that this must smell bad. Thos seems a weird thought, seeing as if you were ever close enough to smell a star, you’d have burnt up miles – light years – ago. The idea of the size of  light years scares me; as soon as somebody mentions a light year, you can be sure there are lots of numbers involved. Just try thinking of it in millimetres. Or don’t.4

All of this is random, but in my defence, it’s two in the morning aka ten at night and I can’t sleep and the different time zones are like light years to my poor abused brain.5

Actually, apparently it’s four am now, and I’ve no idea when that happened. Time here is not really worth much. It’s me repaying my karmic debt for actually enjoying my holiday. No pain, no gain, and doesn’t that suck. I want it easy, damn it, and I want it now.6

This started off much more philosophical than it has become. I’ve gone in reverse. I used to see pretty dots in black air. Now it’s complicated, over the top imagery. I blame this for my vertigo. I get so caught up in all this imagery that I’m sure I’ll forget to stand upright and fall to my death. This has never yet happened, but you never know. Aforementioned vertigo is new, so in theory I can stop it by refusing to think so much, but this theory is worthless. Crystal stars in velvet sky are worth more. 7