Gravastar

You never used to seek safety. 

Risk. Roots. Wings. Ground. 

You listen to music by twenty-somethings for twenty-somethings. 

You remember the churning, the unaddressed wounds.

You're happy they have a place now, in your home, sitting over there by the window. 

You don't resonate anymore. 

Will you never fall madly in love again? 

Would you want to? 

Madly implies unsafety, but not the good kind. An unmooring, a leaving-behind of all you've built. Was madness just anxiety? Insecurity? Not-knowing?

Madness never came with the men who treated you well. Learn from that. Heed that. Lean into the love you've found: in love with a person not a projection, not a longing, not a void.

Yesterday, you learned about gravastars. They're like black holes but not. They don't have an event horizon, but an impossibly thin shell made of an as-yet-identified particle. They are filled with true nothingness -- energy so fervent and matter so concentrated that its mass is 10x our sun. 

Particles are like waves on an ocean. What we experience as 'nothing' is in fact everything -- it's the fabric of the cosmos. Wavelengths require water. Nothing is like water. 

You're afraid of people who are imploding, who pull in whatever is nearby and crush it down, sending it to the other side of oblivion.

_____

There are things we experience but don't understand, and things we understand on paper but don't experience. 

Spirits, for example. You've experienced being filled up by spirit, channeling energy. They don't make sense, but you've sensed them. 

Gravastars have a proof. Like black holes for decades, they are theorized but not yet observed. They make sense, but you can't sense them. 

_____

When you were seventeen, you flew into a gravastar. Your spark and sense of purpose got pulverized. Your light went out. It was hard to tell because you became someone else -- something else entirely, a thing so successful that nobody realized it was forged in a smithy of necrotic acid. Encased in a razor-thin layer of an as-yet-recognized particle. 

When matter and energy get that dense, it transforms. It has to. It has to go somewhere, become something

It's happening now, whatever is on the other side of pulverization.