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Fake stars.
I always liked stars. They seem like hope to me.
It’s peaceful looking at them, and they’re so far away that you can imagine all of it. Their shape, their color, their differences.
They’re so far away, so impossibly unreachable, and maybe that’s what make them so special.
Maybe they’re only beautiful because we can’t clearly see them, maybe they’re only beautiful because they’re so far away so that we don’t get disappointed if we’d be able to see them up close. Maybe it’s the impossible that make them beautiful.
Stars are always there, no matter where you are. They’re always glowing, no matter how dark it is and somehow, they’re always there. You just have to look up in the sky. Everyone can look at them too, everyone is able to admire their beauty. Maybe that’s a connection we all unknowingly have.
So here I am, and I stare at them from afar, the tiny glowing point in the black sky.
There are lots of them, lots of tiny unreachable dots. The closer I look, the more I notice their shape and color.
I desperately want to reach out, maybe now I’m close enough to finally reach them.
But, coming so close to what I always wanted, I’m afraid to do so. What if they aren’t real? What if I just made them up and those things aren’t stars at all?
Nevertheless, I’m already really close now, and so is my hand. I can clearly see the five edges of each star, a bit blurred as they shine so bright.
I reach out and hold my breath, my fingers stretched out, shaking ever so slightly.
They have a hint of green in the white, the stars, and are cold as I touch them. They’re flat too. I hand moves, and I touch another one carefully. The dark sky is also flat, although rougher.
Is this it? Is this the end, where I finally arrived? Is this really everything I’ve waited for, everything I was able to accomplish?
Something is off about the stars. There has to be.
They don’t quite fit in my imagination that I always had of them. In fact, they don’t at all. They seem too unreal. Too less.
And it takes me a while to realize that I once again let my thoughts travel too far and the stars are the ones glued to my ceiling.
They glow in the night. They always did.
I never moved from where I am now, I never was truly able to reach the stars. I come to wonder if I ever will be.
It’s all just plastic. And my foolish thoughts of hope that go against reality.
As I lie in my bed, watching the stars at my ceiling, it all seems like a huge lie. I never reached them, never arrived.
I’m still stuck in my bedroom, wasting time.
I wonder if, maybe, my star will appear once there too. I wonder how it’ll look and how bright it’ll glow. I wonder if people will notice my star and look up at it when they think about me.
And I mourn the missed opportunity of ever seeing it myself.