constellations

I don’t know how to put into words what this is like but I hope I do eventually. for now, this is all I have.

we are the constellations in someone else’s sky, children point up at our airplanes and think they’re shooting stars. we are what they call divine but we are human beings, just as flawed. we walk the earth so flawed and yet so privileged/we don’t see the privilege of being alive. I think they call this grief but how do you mourn someone that’s still alive?