She was the universe.
She walked, her shirt woven with stars, her skirt sprinkled with gases, across the skies, sliding between atoms and molecules and things smaller than both, no disturbance to anything, to anyone.
Her left eye held the moons, her right eye held the suns, her teeth
(more) gleamed with the asteroids. Her tongue rolled with light, her throat vibrated with dark. She carried galaxies in her hands, stars drifting down from her fingertips, winking and twinklings as they drifted through the space around them. Her fingernails were made of planets' rings, her lips coated with the cores of meteors. Her hair twisted and burned with the fires from the star clusters, sparking and sizzling and burning until only the few strongest inches of the feathery tufts remained. She held trillions of organisms within her veins, living creatures crawling around the insides of her blood cells, shooting through her heart, around her lungs, inside her brain, ignorant to their location, ignorant to her. They laughed and played and warred and cried within her, they ate and raised and hunted and thought and believed within her, and she heard them all, listened to them all, smiled at and cried with and learned about them all. She loved them all, even though not a single one of them knew of her.
She was the universe.
But, oh, how lonely she was.(less)
