Black Holes and Whirlpools

Somehow we called truce; somehow we sent the message without saying anything at all. Somehow we are retreating, letting our wounds heal while we brace for the next assault. Somehow we haven’t forfeited, somehow we’re still fighting. Somehow I was born a star, full of hot fire, and now I’m cooling. I’m losing the passion, but I am getting stronger. I am exploding; I am a star gone supernova. I am a black hole, dark as the abyss and stronger than ever. Light will never reach me, but my sounds keep escaping. Gravity keeps me from being heard, but I keep hoping that you would hear. I keep hoping you would visit me. You — the whirlpool — will meet me —the black hole — what a fantastical destruction. Energy and lack thereof, and even in our old age, we are fighting still. We are combining and ripping apart. Twisting and turning, black holes and whirlpools just make disaster. You — with the churning of waves as you ravage anything that circles and circles and circles. We circle. I — with my haunting desolation, the magnet that pulls you in only to have you disappear. We forgo our past alliances and allegiances, and we swear to our deaths that this would be great. If only we would meet. If only a black hole and a whirlpool could exist simultaneously and together, but they are too far in the same universe. Are we even in the same universe? Could we ever be? Could we ever meet? Are we exploding? Will we ever be age old winners of the war we keep waging, or will we just forfeit? Would you ever let me forfeit? Are you forfeiting? I don’t think I can go supernova if you aren’t there. I don’t think you will ever accumulate enough of anything if I’m not there. I don’t think we will ever set space on fire if we never meet. I don’t think we will ever meet; I don’t think we can even meet. I don’t think we can exist simultaneously and together.