Meteor Shower

Every time her heart broke,
it seemed like all the stars in her universe
fell from the sky at once.
All she could do was watch,
over and over and
over and over.
And over.
It was beautiful, in a way,
because a person's capacity to love
isn't meant to be contained
in a bottle, however flexible
the walls may be.
She wanted to stay
in that brief moment
forever —
the one where everything
burnt as brightly as it ever had
just before the lights went out
and all that was left was
a billion grains of earth and sand
on the ground
waiting
to shine again.
And then she learned
to live there, too,
alone in the darkness,
but she'd never let
the dust settle.
No.
She'd breathe deep
and let it all out, and
she'd dance
with abandon
and with every breath
and step she took,
dust
would learn to fly again.
Baby steps.