#outer space

The stars make me poetic, so I write. Even here in my tent, I know they twinkle above me, a thousand tiny dots like freckles for the sky. I sat outside for a long time earlier. I’m not sure how long, but it seemed both like forever and nothing at all.

The wind batters the tent, pushing each wall toward me, but the stakes hold firm. I should probably fall asleep, I know. Ignore the wind, take a deep breath. Find that tiny kernel of warmth in my chest and let it spread. Let it make every muscle relax, and just… calm me.

I really should.

But the stars make me poetic, so I write.

asnescio:

Immigrants, we are

Immigrants, we are

bynasahubble