Somewhere between the stars, we exist.
A scorching ball of molten blood and carved out river veins.
The place we call our home is violent, ruthless, and stubborn.
Eliminating through “natural” phenomena.
Those who survive live on.
And we live finitely.
But we love endlessly.
We laugh when we can no longer cry.
Our memories drive our ambition.
And losing is only part of the fight.
This rock will spin in space forever more.
We spend our limited lives,
Maintaining jobs and families to carry our names.
To us, this rock we call our home has become nothing less than property.
We possess it.
Like a phantom in a human host, we’ve claimed the right to our vessel of life.
This rock. This pebble. This chuck of dirt I have. It’s mine. With my name. Under contract. Ink and paper. Mine.
How selfish we’ve become.
But we learn from the master.
We claim. She reclaims.
We fight. She frights.
An endless cycle of life and death.
Existing somewhere between the stars.
Until the stars collapse…
Illustration by Hannah Stinson, fashion communications.