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.