DEATH OF A STAR

                               
                                su·per·no·va

                                                                 /,so͞opərˈnōvə/

                                                                                noun ASTRONOMY

1. a star that suddenly increases greatly in brightness because of a catastrophic explosion that ejects most of its mass.

                                           

1. 
   
2. A red super-giant star approaches the end of its life. It has exhausted its fuel to burn and is bound to implode under its own weight.

When the entire foundation of your being is built upon something you trusted to be indispensable, the only fallout plan you have is the pretension that it is still there even when it has long ceased to exist.

And taking its place is nothing but an intuitive attachment, a misplaced struggle to stay loyal because it was the closest thing you had to a sense of belonging. 

 Eventually the implosion bounces back off the core, expelling the  stellar material into space, forming the supernova.  

You know you're floundering, losing momentum and too burnt out to fight. 

                                                                                 .

                                                                                 .

                                                                                 .

                                                                       

Exhibit A:

 What's left is an ultra dense object called a neutron star. The  remains of the former star are spread over light years of space.  They  float quickly, sweeping up interstellar gas here and there,  leaving a faint glow of light.

Mentally disintegrated and confused, you readjust to find another sense of self. Compulsion to second-guess everything you had ever programmed yourself to believe in is a clean-slate, a blessing.

                   Everything is destroyed, but everything is better.

Exhibit B:

 If not even neutron degeneracy pressure can hold the core up, the  core collapses into a black hole.

- and you begin mindlessly leeching onto anything that offers a single shred of solace, even when you know the void is slowly unweaving every fiber to the thread you swore would stay woven together.
Everything is quietly evolving into an inward-spiraling black hole as you begin to wonder if this is how it ends.

                                                            


                   Deeply-rooted priorities do not change overnight, but people do.



      - Don't quite know since when my fascination with the cosmos begin, but i felt like writing something inspired by it hence, this.

      
                                    
  P.S. Credits to Google for everything in italic font.