[His mind of course doesn't naturally think in terms of the stars, but hers does. When she makes the comparison though, he can see it. His narrow chin juts down in a single nod, sipping more of his drink at a slow and steady rate. It's not like how he eats. Then he inhales, shoveling it down not for pleasure but for purpose. A holdover from when he never knew if he'd get another meal, or how long this one would last without being stolen. It's easier to eat on the go, shoveling it in, multitasking, than to relax and dine. Ever in motion. He doesn't know if she feels like that, too.]

I think if people became something else rather than thinking they become nothing would make them fear death less. Or rather, if they became something else they wanted, rather than just decomposition. Most people don't care at all about just becoming good soil. Too selfish for that.

It's not always a bad thing, though. To become something else.