Humans have the uncanny need to assign symbols to every conceivable thing they do.
The stars I stick on my ceiling?
It represents the the universe;
an infinitely expanding horizon.
Even if I stretch my eyes far enough,
I will not be able to see the end of the realm of possibility.
The five points of the stars represent my five core values:
family, honesty, love, trust, and passion.
The empty space in between the stars
show what space I have yet to occupy;
empty spaces yearning for a splatter of fantasy.
Everything has a meaning.
Everything has a purpose.
But life is not a book,
and the stars are wilting.
They are not stars of infinite possibility,
and they are not stars of enduring hope.
They are purposeless, except to perhaps,
brighten my room just a little bit.
The stars I wish upon
are meaningless cut-outs of yellow paper.