(Excerpted from a piece of fiction)
Everyday possibly a million stars are blowing up someplace in the universe. Becoming drawfs and possibly black holes eventually. Gobbling up the stories around them.
I am sitting opposite you, seeing you chew away on your favorite cheesecake. You are the black-hole. I am the story. I can see myself being warped in. A Tail without a head.
Am I being poetic? I am diagnosed with arrythmia and there is only one star that is responsible for that glitter in my life. Please stay.
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