15 May Relative Abundance, by Tia Dias
The cosmos leans on repetition–
stars scattered,
light returning again and again
until the night becomes whole.
Life here moves the same way.
Days blur together–
lectures and deadlines,
highlighters bleeding into the night,
coffee cups orbiting laptops.
At first, it all feels ordinary,
but meaning gathers silently,
constellations stitched from the smallest moments.
It is the rarer instants that suggest the frequency—
lingering with friends in the stairwell, pretending class can wait,
three of you squeezed too tightly into the frame of a blurry photo,
late-night food runs that tastes like freedom,
hearing your sibling’s laugh echo through the phone.
Scarcity gives these flashes gravity,
the way one bright star can anchor the sky.
Abundance isn’t excess.
It’s the balance of enough—
time barely stretched to fit it all,
laughter that lingers past exhaustion,
the sweetness of knowing
you are stitched into something larger.