dead stars may spew
exotic dead matter.
A sonnet written unconsciously to me in the contents page of the New Scientist. This is what I do regularly; look for signs of love, the faintest indication of affection, because it calms me. Just the slightest hint gives me a warm buzz and softens the edges around me. And I don't think I'm alone. There are others out there. You just don't notice them in the morning panic to get to work. You are too focused on where you have to get to that you don't notice where you are. But I see them. We all have that love sick expression on our faces as we scan our environments for any sign of love.