The night sky is how I came to wish to fly. It is the most beautiful art, alive with in raw energy, a song for the eyes. At times I felt as if I could feel it vibrating somehow, whispering in a way the ears cannot hear. I guess it felt friendly when the world of people felt so devoid of love. I wanted to see it right, in three dimensions, see the sculpture of divine hands.
Stars shone as sugar spilt over black marble, glistening in the sun. The night sky was such a welcome sight, appearing like magic at each sunset, promising to return as she faded in dawn's first light. There were times in the daytime, under skies of blue, Pamela would think of those faraway stars and how they'd return after the shadows blended into the dark.
As night fell the blue haze of day lifted to reveal the stars. Shay always felt that this was closer to the truth of who we are. He wondered, if we were nocturnal would we feel more connected to those far away stars, perhaps sensing the fragility of Earth all the more. To him the night was when the curtain was pulled back, when we got to see out of the window we call "the sky" to the universe beyond.
Stars filled the sky like pale corn into freshly turned ground. It was the promise of life in the darkness, a sense of warmth springing from the cold. It was a vastness to bring humbleness and an eternal space to bring gratitude for the coziness of home. No matter the years that passed, Leo saw each night sky as a fresh gift given anew. It was the moment anyone that knew him would see his eyes smile and his breathing deepen just a little.
Stars light the sky like snow-flakes in the night, yet appear still, like an old photograph. Jessie smiles, feeling the wind blow her hair into a tousled mane. Were she out there in space, riding the limits of the known universe, they would be a choreographed blizzard. How the stars would move, the galaxies tumble and dart. But for now, with her arms around the branch of a windswept tree and her head leaning gently on the bark, the starlight kept its familiar pattern. The constellations, who'd witnessed centuries and millennia just the same, watched over this tiny moment.
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