She shines bright like a star desperate to be seen among the inky night sky
In a universe stretching galaxies, with milky ways of endless beauty and terror and brightness and wonder.

She carries on flickering in the hope that those who spot her are guided to better things by her light.
She burns hot, forever aflame and highlighting the vast darkness that can never be kept at bay.
There cannot exist one without its opposing force and no matter how hard she tries, the pitch black will prevail.

She rails against the odds, emitting radiant hues in white and red and green and blue
Painting the universe with a haze that is distinctly hers, tirelessly working to brighten, lighten, to thrive.
Survive.

But what happens when stars burn too bright having spent that light being seen
admired
cursed
wished upon
spent
and there's none left to fuel the spark?

What happens to little stars alone in the sprawling universe, unseen and unmourned when they burn out?

They fall.