There was nothing but pure drama.
The sky was as black as ebony. It paints no scene of happiness. Staring at it is like falling to a bottomless pit. It was as deep as an abyss. And there one star shines. Alone.
I remember the nights when the sky was full of the stars’ flares – like scattered pieces of jack stones. Sprawled in that somber blanket are their little sparks, seeming to assure the moon they would be staying until the dawn breaks and until the sun completely defeats the dark. But that was those old cold nights, not tonight.
It’s like everybody is gone, even the stars. And I could feel the loneliness. I haven’t got a drenched cheeks but I could feel my throat was burning. It’s enough for me to believe that tears were about to shed.
I hate the feeling. Nostalgia crept. I remember how my father used to put me on his shoulders when my childish complaints of a tired foot would already annoy him. I suddenly missed my mom – the way she made me believe that falling stars would grant a fantasy. I wonder if my older sister also allows her children to play under the starless sky just how we used to do. And I asked if my grandma never broke her promise that she’ll be a star that would look after me when she finally reaches heavens.
My thoughts hang on the air. The cold wind caressed me. I felt I was lost and left behind.
There was the star – alone and shining. And there was me under the skies – lonely but not alone. I know all my stars are still there, perhaps concealed by the clouds and are too far to reach.
I can’t see them but I can feel them.