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When I was Five, I looked at the stars. I looked at them, and I pretended they were my friends. I missed them during the day, playing with in the sandbox, looking up to wonder where they had gone.
When I was Seven, I looked at the stars. I looked at them, and found comfort. I wondered what they were, why they were there. I laid on my back, snuggling in the grass, imagining mother nature was my best friend and confidant, and the stars were her children. I whispered my secrets to her, and never felt alone.
When I was Eleven, I looked to the stars. I learned how to cry to them. I learned to vent to them, and to thank them. I learned to appreciate their beauty in the same breath I used to wonder what they were made of, who they were. I learned of their names, and their mythology. They became human to me. They had personalities, and figures, and my comfort once again was laying outside being with them.
When I was Fifteen, I couldn't look at the stars as often. I learned more about them, but about their real names, and their real forms. I learned their makeup, their patterns, their gravity. I learned how they were formed, and how they died. And suddenly, the phrase "we're all made of star dust" wasn't as exciting to me anymore.
When I was Seventeen, I couldn't look at the stars anymore. I learned, but I learned that you couldn't learn about the stars until you had learned every possible other thing. I learned that to learn about the stars meant I had to spend years away from them. That I had to spend years inside, on my bed, hunched over a laptop, over a textbook, learning about a million other things that aren't stars. I learned how much math, how much motion, how many laws, and how many theorems it's going to take until I might be able to learn about the stars. And I cried. Because now I can't cry to the stars, I have to cry to my failed Newtons Laws Quiz. And every time I can't cry to the stars, my love for them, and my passion for them, feel like they're slowly slipping away. Because I don't know how many nights separated from the stars it will take, for me to have the opportunity to truly know them.
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oh my go you are so awesome the writing filled me with intense emotions it's so good . The feelings can really reach anyone. I don't know if this suggestion is right or wrong but you know if you are close to something or admire it then you don't need to know everything about it. I understand we might get the urge to do so but truly speaking sometimes knowing everything may ruin the relation (it might sound like i am talking about a human human relation but trust me it holds good here too). It may destroy the beauty something mustremain in the mist
and a little more suggestion, dude , you can get closer to them by writing about 'em . i mean literature is really wonderful and you are sure good at it so please try . AND I WANNA READ MORE FROM YOU , YOUR THOUGHTS. PLEASE.
ReplyStars are Suns, like our Sun. They don't have gravity. Planets have gravity.
ReplyIK IM LATE BUT DAMN. JUST DAMN. YOU ARE A TALENT4D WRITER. THAT GAVE ME ALL THE FEELS. THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL. YOU COULD HAVE EXPLAINED THAT IN A BORING FEW SENTENCES BUT YOU DID IT IN THE MOST ELEGANT, THOUGHT PROVOKING WAY. GOOD FOR YOU, AND BEST OF LUCK!
ReplyThat is writing perfection man
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