Look to the stars. Maybe somewhere up there in that incomprehensible clustering of blazing gas and heat, you may find yourself. Maybe somewhere up there, you may get lost in yourself. Philosophers, astronomers, astrologists, hopeless romantics, dreamers, lovers. Those heavenly bodies with the power to captivate, the power to look into the future, the power to light up the night.

Sometimes I wish I could lose myself in the night sky. To just throw away everything I know and love and follow a star. Follow a dream. Follow an unrealistic goal. Follow my heart. What's in my heart? I don't know. Blood? Why can't I ever feel anything there? Maybe it's broken.

Maybe I'm too scared to follow my own star. I look at all of the other stars, and they're named after people, after things, after animals. I can't find my own star. It's out there, sure. But I can't find it. What's so special about a star? They're all fuzzy dots up there in the sky. But I want my own.

Maybe there's too many stars and not enough sky. Too many gods. Too many addictions. Too much television rots the brain. I have too much time on my hands. Why am I writing this? I'm scared of rejection. Downvote this, bitch.

I look at people around me. So perfect, so ideal. So much like that pretty star in the sky. But stars collapse. Supernova. People are not so perfect. Everyone has their own secret little problems. Little problems rolled up in paper. Little problems locked away in their head and the key is lost in a sea of doubt and remorse. Boom.

Big Bang Baby. Stars are not forever. Dreams fade, stars fade, hope fades, beauty fades. What happens in the end? Maybe we get our own stars. Don't fly too high, Icarus. Don't burn your wings. Don't fall. I'm falling. I fell in love once. Innocence fades too. I want my own star.

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