Stars.

The rain pitter-patters outside my open window where the stars don’t shine because the clouds are thick and heavy. I can’t see the stars tonight, but I know that behind those clouds they’re still shining bright.

I lie here awake and think; and think and dream. I think about these stars and how they shine around the world. I think about far off places who never see my stars, who have their own stars that shine for only them.

I dream about the African stars that shine over South Africa, the brightest stars I’ve ever seen, an innumerous flood of passionate fire. Shooting stars; falling stars; steady, bright stars.

I dream of the stars in Paris and how they’re drown out by the lights of the city. What a bittersweet sacrifice to hide the stars with lively, twinkling man-made lights who frighten darkness away from city streets.

I dream of the stars in Japan and smile at their steady glow that remains unchanged and faithful as the earth shakes unpredictably, changing everything else that once was constant.

I dream of the stars over your city. And I check the weather wherever you are ’cause I want to know if you can see the stars tonight.

Can you see them or is the city too bright? Do you stop to look at them or are you walking too fast? Did you make a wish when you saw one fall from the sky or did you forget?

I lie here awake and think and dream while the rain pitter-patters outside my open window. I can’t see the stars tonight, but I know that somewhere they’re still shining bright.

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