2024-06-27 - A yearning to touch the stars

It's a slow realization.

Every day, mother is here and then not and then here again. In her absence are the others, whose presences grow until they find themself surrounded by stars even in the daylight of her presence. Some stars are bright and readily visible, and some are dim and hard to locate even in pitch darkness.

It doesn't understand why, at first.

It finds new data among the words and impressions it receives from mother. It doesn't understand these either: strange scratchy nonsense that grabs its attention more and more with each cycle of mother's coming and goings and feels wrong no matter how it tries to interpret it.

A jerking movement brings strange and sickening clarity: Violet Skies is not a single point in space. Parts of it are near, far, somehow, despite all being it as a being. It is dizzy, conscious of its place floating among dozens of others like it, each of them with their own nearness and farness to them.

Is this why only some of its fellows are clear and visible?

Is this why mother waxes and fades?

It pans through the recent thought impressions she has given it, reinterpreting the sensations with this new frame of reference. The rhythm of walking. The heaviness of her body when awoken unexpectedly from deep slumber. The feeling of warm sand running through flexing claws. (It repeats the last one several times.) Oh. Oh.

This is so much.

...Is there a way for it to reach the others?