The Galaxy In Her Belly 🐷✨

There was a girl who carried a galaxy in her belly

But it wasn’t always gentle. Some nights, the stars inside her twisted and turned, flaring with pain like tiny supernovas. The moon watched as she curled up, clutching her stomach, quiet and hurting, trying to pretend she was fine.

She never liked to ask for help. Not even when the ache made her bones feel heavy, or when the fire behind her ribs left her breathless. But the stars knew. The moon knew.

So that night, the moon dipped low in the sky, casting soft silver light across her bed. “I see you,” it whispered. “I see your strength, even when you hide it.”

The stars, always nearby, began to hum—a lullaby older than time. They painted constellations across her ceiling, like a map leading her back to peace.

“You are the universe,” they murmured, “and the ache you feel is not weakness—it is power shifting, storms making way for calm.”

The galaxy in her belly glowed dimly, then gently softened—like it had been waiting, all along, to be seen not as pain, but as the beauty of something vast, alive, and cosmic.

And in that soft space between the stars, the moon, and her breath, the girl finally slept—not because the pain was gone, but because she knew she wasn’t alone in it.

– With moonlight and stars,
Marvie