Its almost intimate
the way the stars shine on all of us.

We look up and capture their light
as it gazes down upon us and touches our face.

They twinkle, as if looking at us kindly.

We look at them,
white holes in a black page,
bright sparkles in the distance,
in an endless expanse

beaming,
with hope

and we remark on the beauty of their nature.

They promise that in the darkness - there will always be a light.

That no matter the expanse,
there is always something distant, compelling.

That in just the slightest fate, a human could survive.

Just far enough from them
to keep them warm.
To give them air.
To grow.

And only within the luckiest fates, do two souls stare up at them
with a similar face
with a similar hope
connecting.

Only the luckiest of fates
look up at those stars,
and feel something.

Only the luckiest of fates
will be looked down upon
by those stars
kindly.

I pictured them as an inner-network as a child.
A very large highway, connecting their energy to mine
and feeding off of it.

The highway has faded with age.
But I feel the gravity of it all.

And I have to come back to them,
to see them.

Not as a background, but as they really are.

Spirits of the good.
Holes in a black page.
And distant energies
that persuade me to believe
some fantasies could be real.