Black holes and dark clouds and space dust are universal metaphors for what(?); that part of you that has no room for anything at all but the perfectly straight line that travels from the retina of your only remaining eye, returning when it will from the end of the universe, ignoring, no, completely oblivious to anyone else in you path(?); no(?), it’s the other way around, isn’t it?
It’ll pass, Old Friend (The Rest of Me).