I have soared to unknown heights and picked constellations like berries, suckled them, and felt their sweet burn down the back of my throat. I dined on the cosmos to feel part of something larger than myself. I slumbered with the moon while the taste of creation rested in my belly. A prickly, butterfly feeling I craved more and more. 

My fingers plucked small nuggets of Mars; its red iron was but dust and filled my mouth with the taste of red velvet, or perhaps blood, the very core of life. Briefly, there I rested; the weighted pieces filled me with gravity. I did not like the inability to float endlessly. My will would not be trapped by such decadence. Those tastes would have been my undoing, a stark reminder of my humanity in the face of cosmic splendor. 

With stars nestled in my stomach and iron in my throat, I danced through the rings of Saturn and partook in the dense fog of helium and hydrogen until my head swam in wonder. Her ice sparkled like diamonds that filled my eyes with the brilliance of a kaleidoscope. Each of her moons felt like family too distant to embrace. Saturn herself, a gaseous beauty that defied all touch. In this, I felt a kinship, a distant love understood and never judged. 

Up there, I was whole, nothing, and everything in between, but I never stopped being hungry. A whole universe consumed turned me into the vacuous space it once was, filled with the beginning of time and the end of it, too. My insatiable hunger to feel anything at all left me to crave the humanity I was desperate to leave behind.