The planet of love
Venus is our sister planet, and the Roman god of love. It's called our sister planet due to being a similar size and density to Earth. It is theorised to have been capable of supporting life for a few hundred million years, though if any evolved it would have been microbial. Last night I saw it under Jupiter and the moon, all shining bright white and making a distinct line through the sky.
It is now a complete wasteland. It's the hottest planet in our solar system, with a crushing atmosphere and thousands of volcanoes.
I think there's a poem in there somewhere. The planet of love, our sister, now dead and uninhabitable. Does Earth mourn her soul? Or did she never die in the first place, just change? Maybe changing beyond recognition is a type of death anyway. Either way we've lost something of her. All love, in the end, leads to loss; however it happens. But it never stops being worth it. It hurts and hurts but the pain means you're alive and that you cared. I wouldn't take away the pain if I could, and I wouldn't choose immortality if I found the secret to it. It'd all feel so grey, wouldn't it? No loss or pain to throw the joy into stark relief. I've felt like this since before I could articulate it. I was always a little scared of Heaven when I was a deeply Christian kid.
I'm not Christian anymore but I hope that when I die I go to Hell. I hope I see the irony in my punishment and burst into laughter. I hope I hold that moment in my chest for all eternity.
I hope I grow out of my goddamn edgy teen phase soon too, Christ, I sound like I'm twelve again.
Anyway. Here's to our sister Venus, and whoever comes to your mind when you think of death and loss.