Constellation

I don’t want to be part of a constellation. A magnificent collective we look for every night. I’d much rather be a small star, thrown somewhere of no particular note in that abstract painting, that dotty mess which is draped over us every night. A dim light, too dim to be seen except way out in the countryside, and too insignificant to be noticed when visible. I’d rather be floating somewhere in the void, looking out at the whole universe, which considerately chooses not to look back. And I would hope that the universe extends its consideration, and chooses not to throw anything into my gravitational well. But I know to not rely on the universe’s consideration. For if the universe truly were so considerate, I wouldn’t be part of the human constellation.