Published: April 17, 2008

When we were young, the stars and the galaxies were figments of our imaginations. We were told about them in class, we were left at our windows at night to ponder the Milky Way’s formation and the journey of the bright stars until they eventually became black holes.

How could all those things exist, beyond our windowpanes? Beyond the clouds? To us, the universe was there, but its existence was based solely on faith. Faith in people we barely knew—parents, teachers and friends. Within a child’s short existence, to be able to know someone enough to trust them is senseless.

But a child must trust because it knows nothing else of the world. It does not know of the world’s malice and the universe’s tendency to crush those who do not shield themselves. But what does a child know of a shield? A child is raw and vulnerable; its white board of innocence is ready to be attacked by the permanent marker of life.  So as a child we are happy to take their words as truth and those words are meant to enrich, not impair.

When we were young, Love was good. It was kind and forgiving. It was our mothers’ warm breast upon the side of our face; it was the world that we thought had such a strong kinship with.

But as we grew older, the galaxies were no longer figments of our imagination. They became real, they became vivid. The galaxy that we once perceived as a sky full of beauty and wonder slowly exuded more truth.

Love became more existent than ever, Love became arduous and breathtaking at the same time. We were all foolish, and we fell in love. We fell in love and we fell into a world that was not like the one we were used to. It was a world of ecstasy, a world induced by the hallucinogen of lust, happiness and satisfaction. But was it really Love?

When Love grips for the first time, it attaches itself to the most defenseless parts of our conscious. Defense is not needed for something so beautiful, no, but when Love turns sour, either through death or through unfortunate circumstance, our most defenseless parts therefore become tainted as well. After the hit that leaves us breathless, we finally put up a shield. The shield built to protect us from further damage. But it far is too late; the shield cannot protect us from what has already been broken.

And it brings pain, a pain that will never leave. A pain that lingers.

The faith we were taught to convey towards those who we are forced to trust becomes a waste of time.

The galaxies, therefore, are exposed to what they are really are:  Givers of the planets and, after billions of years, takers of the planets.