Tonight I stood on tip-toe and gazed out of my bedroom window for ages. At nighttime, there is nothing like the world outside. I stood, resting my arms on the windowsill until they fell asleep, and listened to hundreds of chirpy, echoing frogs. I felt my breath slowly expelling from my nostrils, and then heard it slicing through the window screen like a thousand tiny blades. As my eyes roamed the sky, they would quickly come to rest on a star. I imagined that I was a young David Jones, skinny, knock-kneed, and full of cosmic wonder. I swear that I could feel my pupil slowly dilating as I stared and made the stars disappear, one by one. I understand the need to write about it all. There is so much inspiration to be drawn from the planet Earth, but Earth is like a tiny grain of sand when compared to the entire universe! How could one not draw inspiration from the sky as well? All of this should make a person feel extremely insignificant, but the paradox is this: as minuscule as you are in this vast macrocosmic universe, you have thoughts, you have feelings, you have your SELF, in all of its beauty and horrendous nature. All of these things are what make you bigger than any galaxy and brighter than any sun. We are all wonders. We are all art. ❤