Star stuff

One winter’s night,

there was a rent in the clouds directly above,

and looking straight up into nothingness,

I could feel the cold of the universe pouring

down upon me.

That’s not how thermodynamics works.

Logical Me knows that,

but you won’t convince Emotional Me

that I couldn’t feel the chill of the stars

in the black 

of deep space.

That’s not how stars work.

Logical Me knows that,

but you won’t convince Emotional Me

that the freezing cold wasn’t made of star stuff,

and I am.

Original poetry written in my head on this night.