I sit alone in this room.
I’m the sun in a solar system that has lost its planets.
Why should I burn?
My light is blinding me.
It was different yesterday when you were here.
We were binary stars then,
gravitating towards each other,
exchanging our warmth,
our passion fuelling our light.
Now that you have moved,
I might burn out soon,
and collapse into a black hole.
Or just keep burning
without purpose.
The Dirty Thirty, Poem 6
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