They are a thousand glittering sparks
of fantasy,
untouchable moments
scattered
across the tapestry of blackness and
of night.
Forever above the absolute madness
that is this place one can never seem to
escape from, nor understand.
They are a thousand pieces of the
beautiful simplicity
that is so lost to the souls of us all.
Their magic, their splendor, their incomprehensible
contentment
is the truth of something greater
than what I shall ever know.

So likely,
I long not only to gaze upon their consistent brilliance,
but to reach as far as humanly possible
until a strain is brought to my fingertips,
making physical the feelings
that have long since burned in my very own
soul.
Yes, I long to touch them,
to feel their magic racing into my heart
as I grasp one in my hand,
as I steal a bit of the unfathomable
purity
and keep it for myself.
Perhaps the longing deep inside me will finally be quenched with
the final contented exhale
as I release my smothering fist and reveal it all,
and thus…I may finally
understand.
But they are forever untouchable, unreachable,
those scattered reflections
of the deepest light in my spirit.

So underneath the stretch of night sky,
I lay alone.
Still—
and always—
one incredibly small, very insignificant shadow
lying beneath the
stars.

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