Are you my Star?

“That’s quite a silly question to ask. I belong to no one. I am no one’s star.”

But you’re there, directly above me. I may be the only person to recognise you, and find you whenever and wherever. I may be the only person to acknowledge your existence.

“The fact that I exist is an existence enough. And that doesn’t make me, in any way, your Star.”

I can name you. Make you mine that way.

“I have no need for names. I know myself simply as myself.”

So what can I do to make you mine?

“I am yours when you are mine.”

But I can’t. I want you so that I may give you to someone else. I already belong to that person.

“Pity, then. But if so; if you belong to that someone, then you already have a Star.”

I do?

“She would be your Star.”

But how…?

“She is your Star, if she;

“Is the only thing you see when you look at the Sky;

“Fills you with Light and Radiance in closeness;

“Is your glimmer in the darkness in the distance;

“Is your Glow, your Music, your Wish, your Dream, your Heart’s Desire, your Everything;

“If she is so, then she is your Star.”

Oh.

“And is she?”

She is.

“Then you have no need for me.”

I want to give her a Star.

“You give yourself to her. You become her Star.”

Can I?

“That is for you to do, and for you to discover.”

*****

The stars in the night sky don’t provide good conversation, but they do reply if you ask them something. Most times, the answers were never straight or comprehensible. Sometimes, however, they’re revelations in their own ways.

You’ll also be crazy if you do so. Doubly worse if you actually believe the stars talk back. And if you write them down, you belong in a straight jacket. And if you write them down knowing full well that you’re really insane and in need of sleep, then you belong in a straight jacket chained to a metal ball and dropped into the South China Seas.

But I’m not sleepy, not very willing to sleep, and not disciplined enough to tell myself that I should. So, for now, I dabble in craziness and writing pointless starts to short stories until sleepiness comes and tells me that it’s time.

What? It’s time now? Oh bummer.