"Have you thought about children?" He ponders.

"Yes," I murmur, "but I'm afraid I could never raise them the way they need to be."

"You have a whole universe inside of you," he breaks, "you can do anything."

"I don't want them to be like me...because when you finish tasting the stars, all you're left with is the aftertaste of dust- and that's when the spiraling black holes of depression sink into your skin.
Like the vast, open sky, God, I'm so empty."