The Star Girl

The stream of water gurgles happily, as it makes its way down the rocky mountain, the waves playfully jostling against each other as if it was a race and there was a finish line. Foolish waves! Did they not know that they would all meet the same end by merging into the infinite sea?

But let them be, the world is theirs.

What can I say about the birds? They wake with dawn, sleep with dusk and in between they dance in daylight. Why, when they have wings, do they not stop till they’ve explored every secret of the universe?


But let them be, the world is theirs.


And the leaves- Ah!- like a chameleon, assuming a myriad of disguises over time – from the fresh green of velvet youth, to the rich crimson of old age. Why do they remain attached to the branch all their life, choosing to leave only during death—when they could have let the wind carry them to far, unknown places?


But let them be, the world is theirs.


And what about me?


Do I belong to the world or does the world belong to me?


I was born of an explosion, and am made of carefully collected stardust. My veins house unshed tears and my mind the unknown future.

There are moments when my infinite surroundings remind me of how utterly insignificant I am, of how dispensable I am in this vast universe. When I lay on a grassy bed, staring at warm star-shaped holes in the sky, reminding me where I came from – the star girl- and where I will eventually go. When I stand holding a carton of milk at a crowded supermarket. When I wait at the departures terminal at an airport. When I spend too much time in my twisted head.

Conversely, there are moments that define me and tell me that this is exactly where I fit in—that I was the missing jigsaw piece that the world was looking for centuries. When the sun sets the sky ablaze, and my skin turns into golden lava, with just the hint of a rainbow at the tip of my eyelash. When I smell a plate of rich, warm cookies. When the edges of my fingers trace the spines of old books. When I get lost in your eyes.

Truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know the answers to any of the question marks etched in my brain, and despite them:

The waves will continue racing. The birds will continue dancing. The leaves will continue changing.

They know nothing else. They don’t have a choice.

But I do. I can choose to blend into dark nights, or I can choose to burn the brightest and leave passers-by blinded. I can choose to blush a light scarlet each time you pass, or I can choose to walk up and leave the weight of my words on you behind.

I can choose to be afraid, or I can choose to be afire.

I am, after all, The Star Girl, and the




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