When she goes out into the backyard, fingers intertwined with the one she loves, she looks up at the stars.

Shining specks of light, illuminating the night with a spectacular magic, night after night. They twinkle as she gazes at them, enchanting her with their eternal presence. Up close, they are ferocious fireballs, engulfing themselves. But from where she stands, they shimmer with delicate presence. The little luminous lights above mirror her – burning inside, but brightening up someone’s night with such allure.

She looks up at their glory and grandeur, or perhaps only the illusion of it. Millions of light years away, they may have ceased to exist now. They remind her of the futility of everything on the grand scale of time, exposing her to the truth the daylight overshadowed – forever was only an illusion she refused to accept. The stars would die, so would she. But she gleams with a flutter of hope – as the case may be, even after she departs from the world she has come to know, she might be looked up at and smiled upon.

She sleeps on the grass, gazing at the billions of specks of light whispering at her. She feels like a time traveller, glimpsing into what was, and perhaps what might be. But for the most of it, she understands who she really was – after all, she soothes her soul, we’re all stardust.



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