I am the nebula.
I am but the gas of a dying star.
A fading remnant of greatness,
I am the mass, the mess, the dust left in my star's death.
Watch as my star explodes and dies.
Marvel at its life and admire the trash it's left behind.
Yes the nebula glistens, yes the nebula expands in technicolor.
But I am the nebula and my star is dying, maybe it's already dead.
Wrapped in abandoned dreams.
Grasping for forgotten memories.
Acknowledged as a sight, yet existing as haphazard haze.
Swallowing the star in its wake.
The star strains to break free, but I've consumed it.
The star must explode.
It twinkled so brightly.
It lit the darkest of nights, it admired the expanse of the sky.
The star loved, the star worked, the star strived for more.
But now the star is gone.
And I am here. The nebula.
Stretching, disgracing the star's plane.
Reaching out to hold it's hand, the hand of a dying star.
A hand I can no longer hold. A hand I have no right to hold.
I am the nebula.
"A nebula is a giant cloud of dust and gas in space. Some nebulae (more than one nebula) come from the gas and dust thrown out by the explosion of a dying star, such as a supernova. Other nebulae are regions where new stars are beginning to form. For this reason, some nebulae are called "star nurseries." - https://spaceplace.nasa.gov/nebula/en/



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