Work Text:
Everything is made of stardust.
Whether it be stone or soil, large or small, living or dead, it all came from the ashes of a dead star.
But before that star died, we were molten plasma, indistinguishable from the rest, all welded together and larger than whatever came after.
We would have been a speck in the sky to some other miniscule, unknown species millions of light years away, who wouldn’t have even noticed that we had died and gone to form something new.
But why must we be forced to become something new?
I, for one, would like to go back to that state.
To be a star, alongside everything I had ever known and loved, all melted together into one beautiful being.
To be not solid, not liquid, not gas, but a fourth state, free of the pressure and pains from living.
To be moving, nearly alive.
To be warm.
To be close.
To be real.