What’s Etched in the Stars
The stars came before you, but they aren’t elitists. What’s etched in them is for the people: rich or poor, sunrise chasers or marathon dreamers.
The stars are not a private enterprise.
Someone long ago wrote prose with stardust as their ink, never once lifting their pen off the night time canvas. Space and time have shifted their format, the way that ink fades and paper yellows on the edges. But you can still read the sky, and surely you should.
We were taught to be weary of what sparkled, to proceed with caution into lights that could blind. I say we throw caution out the window and let her land among the stars, becoming the sprinkles of brilliance she so deeply feared last year. What lives in the sky touches all of our souls. What’s etched in the stars is that we all find a home.