Stars. Hundreds of stars. Sometimes, even million.
I miss lying down on the ground and seeing those stars. When the grass used to be the comfortable mattress, and the chill in the air used to awaken every sensual part of you. When I used to wonder looking in the infinite mass-less space whose non-existential presence I still question. The hours ticked away, and the birds went silent, with the occasional chirping of their hungry ones, and I still laid there, just looking. Was it true that those are our ancestors? Or that rare falling star will fulfill my wish? It never did, though. Maybe it was too busy with others’ wishes. So many weak people asking for that ‘one’ wish. It must have been really busy. But how did it pick one out? Destiny? Or some random algorithm to find out who deserved it more than all the others? Maybe it’s the instinct of the star.
But you know what? I don’t care if it didn’t fulfill my wish. Or in case, anybody else’s also. It’s still a star, in fact a rare falling star, and people still crave for it. It’s still breathtakingly beautiful and can’t be forgotten anytime soon. The sight of that star makes you feel life is worth living for. Every small moment of that beauty makes your living justified. No matter if it comes once a month, or even a year, it’s always surprises you, amazes you, makes you feel needy and bring out your emotions for what you really want and desire.
I miss lying down on the drew covered grass and see that falling star.
I miss my falling star.