The Stars

Looking out from my window, I see the stars. The beautiful stars that shone brightly in contrast to the dark night sky. They were all so different. All so special in their own way. Some shone more brightly. Some seemed to fade quietly into the background. Those are personalities. Unique to each individual. One of them is me. That one? The one that looks like it's waving? No, that is my friend. My friend whose personality brightens the day. That one that looks kinda quiet? No, that's my dead parents. Their quiet aura that brought calmness. What about that one? No, that one is too dull to ever be me. So then, is it that one? The one that looks so sad and dangerous? Yes, that one is me. The one that looks lethal. That one that looks sad. The one that looks...shattered. The shattered pieces of glass that used to be a window. The splintered pieces of wood that used to be a fence. I could laugh at the things normal humans considered sad. They found it sad if you lost your parents. Well, I lost them. No, lost wouldn't be the right word. Lost meant gone. My parents weren't simply gone.

They were wiped from existence all together. My memories of them? It was like sand in the wind. All blown away. Who knows where that sand settled afterwards? All I remember is their loving faces and their soft, silky hands that told me they loved me. Ha, I could laugh at that now. Then, ordinary humans saw the loss of friends sad. I lost all my friends. But they were nothing but figments of my imagination. They never were real. There are no friends in this world to me. Only acquaintances that satisfied your needs. Just people that you could ask for help with every once in a while. Ordinary humans find the loss of one's emotions sad. I don't. It makes things convenient. It means I can think without the influence of feelings. I could stop grieving and feeling bad for myself. I could stop time itself from spinning like a clock in me. Yeah, I could wipe out even the slightest traces of anger and act as if I didn't care. Notice how I put the word "act" in my sentence. Yeah. It's acting when you blow the sand away yourself. It's acting when you pretend the glass shards and wood splinters don't hurt you. Your bleeding and sometimes, it stings so bad you want to scream. It's all fake when you put on that mask and turn your stomach to a pure, blank, void. Feelings can't go. Memories are always brought back from darkness. The wind that seems to never die? That wind doesn't exist. And each time, that overwhelming force of sadness, and negativity in general rears its dark, hideous, head. And each time, it smashes you into the wall and you feel those tears seep through.

You wonder why your face feels wet; Tell yourself to stop crying. You can't stop a broken faucet. Just like how you can't stop your own feet fast enough. And that, is me. Stars that shine ever so brightly explode in the end. That represents death. My parents exploded. I watched from the window one night as two stars were reported to have exploded. That night, a murder came and gunned down my parents like flies. I remember their bodies. They went limp. I saw the way their life were sucked out of their bodies. Then, my friends, who betrayed me. Their haughty eyes that seemed to laugh at me when I cried and asked them why they weren't my friends anymore. Why they would beat me up if we still were. The insults that were thrown at my face after rumors were spread about how I was in love with the principal's son. The ways people taunted me. The ways people looked at me. The ways people insulted me. Like one big, piled up pile of sand. I still remember how weak I was. But not one person remembered. Everyone forgot that even as humans lost the meaning for life, some people just went on. They seemed to forget that every time they are broken down, there is a chance that their bodies will refuse to replace the puzzle.

Yeah, I think my body kept the last broken puzzle. As if to show the world that I didn't need new puzzles. That even with one piece gone, I was still there, existing. And when that happens, you know that you can keep going. You are that sad, dull star that looks like its on its last thread. That looks so scattered you wonder if it even is a star. But my friends, always keep this with you: that star isn't fully born. It's not compressed enough. It's a baby that has just come from a mothers will. It's you who still has such a long journey ahead. It is your not yet formed beauty. It is your will to compress that keeps you going.

I look out at the window and I feel calm. The deep calmness that settles down in you. The way your heart cleanses you as you relieve the pain. Yeah, that's right. The times when you feel alright again. When you feel that one day, you can be a brighter and more beautiful star. The window squeaks as I close it. I sigh and climb into bed. But I don't feel so empty anymore. I've got motivation and will to keep going. Tomorrow, things will get unbearable again. Tomorrow is a new day though. And so, I shall savor the feelings that I am going through right now. And not worry about the past or the future that used to haunt me. Ha, I smile to myself. Perhaps in all those stars, my parents are being reborn again. As a new me. As a new baby that can be a parent to someone else again.

I wish you luck, dear parents. And, of course, I hope they find the good friends. The ones I have now. The one who brightens the day, the one who seems a bit dull. Those friends that I have never picked up hatred from.