Thinking about it now, the notion might appear foolish on the surface. The night sky was dusty at best and completely crowded. Littered across this beautiful velvet blanket were small pinpricks, fiery balls of gas that somehow held the heart of every single individual on Earth.
I know you look towards the sky for help and guidance. I know you watch in awe at the small bodies that float above you, miles and miles away. I know you speak to them in the solace of your room, completely alone. Don’t deny it because the heart wants what the heart can’t have.
Watching a glittery jet stream across the sky always captures my attention. There are those of us who ink our bodies with the picture our eyes bestow us so that when world knocks them down hard and instead of a clear sky devoid of city sights they have a skyline full of skyscrapers they’ll look down at their body, place a finger on the art, close their eyes and wish upon a dream that could someday withstand the uncertainties of life.
There is a certain beauty in this wishful thinking. The idea that a fallen eyelash or a shooting star possesses holds the power to strum a tune at our heartstrings that makes goose bumps appear on our skin from the very sound. I want to fall asleep to that sound, a lullaby that holds me close in its arms and whispers sweet nothings through the night.
I hope you get the chance to catch a shooting star, hold it close to your heart and cling to the hope that it brings you. Only then will you realise that it is an indication of something big, an image you need to blow up in order to understand its message. And I’ll watch you standing under this blanket of heavenly beauty, watch you close your eyes, hold out your hand towards it, hoping to catch whatever magic it leaves in its wake and watch your heart make a wish that I pray come true.