Virgo 13. A meteorite with the edges worn smooth.
Any fall creates wind, long falls generating fiery winds that polish away the harshness of sharp shatterings.
I was a meteorite, stopped by earth. Impact was a relief, for I’d had enough polishing. I’d raced toward touching something, anything, craving contact with what I knew not until I touched it. And now, even though I’m absorbed into this new world, I shall never forget my foreignness, having plunged into my self-made hole, yet feeling other, always other, a dark world unto myself buried in this vaster one.
The fiery winds have smoothed me and now I sleep. Miraculous, how the world has accepted me.