She covered me in glitter, like galaxies spiraling from her lips to mine. There is no sound in space, no air through which vibrations can move, just weightless hope, and stars like pale blue eyes being born all around, burning with the heat of a life lived and living, hot with energy and forward motion and the promise of tomorrow. The universe looks good on her, and when she transferred it to my hopeful lips, I found a small sense of order, as if one point of a constellation began to shine in some inaccessible part of my not so rotten body. The farthest corners of the universe are more than an arid wasteland. They are promises kept, holiness, and all the fish in the river feasting on our sins. When I smiled at her as my voice echoed through the craters of the moon, I knew I was home, surrounded by my family, hugged by Ori, the little light-giver, and with constellations swirling through my veins.
Image by Petra Collins