Me and My Star

There is a star that comes out every night. I’m sure there are many stars, but there’s one that I always seem to see first. I first met my star the night of a particularly tear-inducing anatomy exam. Oh look! a star, I thought. I should make a wish.

And so it began, my secret love affair with a twinkling ball of gas.

I must be crazy, going out every night in subzero temperatures to see if my star is there…I know he is. A sea of moisture-laden clouds may come between us sometimes but they only cover up his appearance, not his being. I look across the street, wondering what the neighbors must think of the girl with a car forever covered in snow, who only comes out at night to stand and stare at the sky, as if waiting for a message.

I wonder what I would be like without fear. Looking for my star the other day, I realized I never lacked knowledge of what I wanted to do, only courage to do it.

The world is so big and I am so small, but, much like that little dot in the sea of sky for whom I search every night, I suppose there is someone or something that is changed by my presence. I find myself unable to sleep at night, wondering if this is nothing more than one of my many delusions: that there is a me somewhere for whom I am the star.

Our parents tell us not to give up and our religions tell us to have faith in something else, but I know of nothing that tells us we truly do matter. At times, it feels like nothing matters. How are you supposed to find meaning in a world where balls of fiery gas burning at thousands of degrees can be completely lost in miniscule water droplets suspended above the Earth?

It is a strange feeling I have when I cannot see my star. Those are nights I find it hardest to meet the sandman. Those are nights when I know that, much like my star, my own fire can be clouded by hazy wisps of fear.

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