I read this.
“A star falls from the sky and into your hands. Then it seeps through your veins and swims inside your blood and becomes every part of you. And then you have to put it back into the sky. And it’s the most painful thing you’ll ever have to do and that you’ve ever done. But what’s yours is yours. Whether it’s up in the sky or here in your hands. And one day, it’ll fall from the sky and hit you in the head real hard and that time, you won’t have to put it back in the sky again.”
And I kept reading this today. It had words I love. It had stars. It had the sky. It had pain. It had you in it. I thought then of my lucky star. And how putting that star back in the sky was the most painful thing I had ever done. There’s hope in this quote, but I have none. Some stars are put back in the sky because their constellation is wider than yours, that their constellation was never a part of yours. They are the comets that come into our life, turn the circle of our lives upside down, and then leave in a blaze. A disintegration from our universe, leaving this black hole where light was and will never be. And somehow, you think, maybe that’s just right. Because you are the vast sky, and one star is just that. One star.
Your lucky star is always yours.
Indeed. This constellation knows that you are the star that never went out of the sky – just faded for a while – but will be here. Always.