It’s not forever. Matter is neither created nor destroyed, and maybe the same goes for consciousness. I’ll come back when the world is ready – when humankind achieves star travel, and ignorance is rare, and no one laughs at rape jokes. When enough of the world is ready to love me the way my soul needs to be loved, I’ll hear the earth calling. I’ll collect my particles from all corners of the galaxy and return, and I’ll be happy.
But I’m not happy here, in this time, without star travel, where ignorance is bliss and trauma is a punchline. I’m a glitch in the universe. I’m a premature hatchling. This environment is too hostile.
I just need to leave for a while, back to the nebula I was born in. But “it is too far. I cannot carry this body with me. It is too heavy.”
I will look dead, but I promise I am not.
This here is just a body.
But I am in the sky.