Imagine the sun. Imagine looking at it, facing the searing heat and blinding brightness. The sun rotates once every twenty-seven days. The sun is made up of 92% hydrogen. The sun is the closest star to the earth. Yet the distance is very relative. The sun is 92,960,000 miles away from us. It's far away. So far, our weak, limited human mind simply refuses to understand it. 92,960,000 miles. That's 8 digits. I could walk all my life, run, even, without stopping, eat, drink, whatever, relentlessly in my pursuit, and yet, even when I'm 80, I wouldn't even be 1/1000th of the way there. Will I never see him face to face? The sun, our ever-present guide in the sky, our provider and sustenance of life, is infinitely out of reach. Our sun is shining. It shines so brightly, day after day, every second, every moment, every breath, and even when we're not looking. From the earth we see nothing other than the ever-present luminescence. How does it keep itself on fire? The answer is simple and beautiful. She is alive. Deep in his heart, he is agitated. Constant disturbances. Constant restlessness. Volatile. In its heart, atoms buzz frantically. Hydrogen collides with hydrogen. Another heavier element, perhaps. Then something magical happens. Nuclear fusion. Energy is emitted. Shapes of light. The sun evolves. He is growing, and has been, since birth. It crosses space, never the same. Slowly, its composition changes. Less hydrogen, day after day, week after week. Fuel burns. It's drying up. He needs to refuel. Our sun is getting colder. His heart becomes heavy, and becomes heavier, and heavier, until it becomes unbearable. He is overwhelmed, exhausted and tired. The sudden realization. Immortal, he is not. Our sun is not winter... middle of paper... I haven't told you the whole story of our sun. The climax of our plot was left out of the story. Yes, our sun will die. Be that as it may, our sun does not die a coward's death. As his heart hardens to stone, he anticipates his end. Before the time runs out, he will perform his best piece. It will expand. Swallowing the inner planets, she devours them one by one, for no one will be able to hinder her. His dream will be realized. It swells, proudly, as it increases in size, becoming 200 times larger than today. It begins to throb, it is no longer stable and its time is approaching. Just before it ends, his last act of providence. He launches outward, as his heart and soul pour into immense fluorescent nebulae, which will one day be the components of new stars, new beginnings. And so, although he may never know it, one day he will live again.