Does the sun ache in its loneliness; does it know the depths its light reaches? Can it recognise the specks of planets that orbit it, encircling like sharks but never nearing its flesh; never knowing its taste? What does it think, amid the cosmic expanse, where all is tightly wound, yet so far away? On what does it meditate? Is it aware of the appellation we have given it: 'sun'? Does it know it has a name? Does it know how it warms my skin, and thaws bitterness, and melts sorrowful chains?

How can any celestial body, any object that roams the universe, feel—knowing how desperately alone it is? An observer that cannot touch lest the touched be destroyed; that loves but can never embrace? To touch is to ruin; to let unfold an irrevocable devastation of change. Two comets colliding may become something beautiful, or something strange, or ugly; but it will never be the same. Though every body that has ever existed has remained in uniform solitude, it anticipates its future metamorphosis. The sun will collapse into its own weight, the earth will become a hellscape, a nebula will take shape. Something magnificent will come out of a brutal end, but I wonder if it will grieve its fate.

Is love a worthy sacrifice for the soul? To let it be warped and bent and manipulated; to recognise itself in another's frame, and to be brutally torn from its shape. To look at all the yesterdays and see a stranger where they used to be—both self and other, both perception and face.

How dangerous it is to submit yourself to the calloused, cruel hands of affection; to assume safety in its soft cradle, only to be hollowed in its absence. The transaction is reciprocal: love gives and takes in equal measure. Moments of joy and gratitude become inseparable from their inversions—shame, resentment, the bitter residue of what was. They are inextricably bound. Perhaps that is the essence; to know the catharsis, the torture and the brief transcendence of a mortal love. To observe the stars and understand the irreplicability of our temporal position; to recognise how rare and fragile our world is. To risk transformation, and to become terrified yet unafraid; to search for love again even while facing dismay, because there is a burning passion in our hearts that must be shared and conveyed. We will all be betrayed by time's relentless march, yet through it, eternally saved.