Tonight the sky looks really placid. Sort of peaceful. It’s black and calm, A huge velvet blanket. You can wrap it tightly Around yourself. Tight and secure. It’s comforting, So beautiful. Studded with silver stars. Each one separated, miles from the next. Yet all sparkling together. I reckon when someone dies they have their own star. It shines so brightly. All the people that they cared for. And that cared about them. Know they are still shining. Brighter than ever before. Even lonely people People who had nobody. They still have a star in the sky. There is always someone to look at it. There is a star for everyone. And one for everyone to look at. That was a lie. The stars will burn your eyes. Singe the tips of your fingers. So that you can’t ever touch anything else. You can only get so close. Then it hurts. And it’s dangerous. Because you’re too close. It hurts and burns and aches. And there is nothing you can do about it. Because you are you. And that makes you weak. Makes you empty. Useless. Not selfish. Not at all. Just because they don’t understand. They don’t have a clue. They know nothing. Even less than you.
