If falling stars only last a moment,
I'd like for you to be an asteroid,
leaving craters on my heart
because your impact will never be forgotten.
Like wishes lost, forgotten long ago,
I pray on meteorites blazing dreams across the sky.

And I will read old letters to make my heart ache again,
in yearning for the softness of your skin.
But knowing days are coming as a certainty,
my heart can't wait to see your face again.

My hands are cold on nights alone,
with no amount of breath enough to warm them.
I am frozen in a wasteland,
wherein you are the only heat.
My sun in a sunless sky,
and star falling in a vacuum.

I lay by candlelight and wait for you to take me in your arms.
But I know you will not come,
and I wish to set my head aflame;
a flare to guide you home.

When thunderstorms lie dormant
is the time when my heart sings.
Despite my love for sunny skies
and shining wedding rings,
my heart will cry for thunder,
raging through the towns and trees,
to take my soul to splashing,
making waves as angry seas.

The lightning flares my soul,
prepares my heart for greater things
than fancy driver's licenses
and long forbidden things.
So very soon I'll fly away
to where I've never been.
And you'll have never known me,
and you never will again.

There was a place. A not so...happy place, but a place. A place is a nice thing to have. It's better than not having a place. Places are wonderful things to go to, wonderful things to be going from, and wonderful places to be. Places exist, just like people, and have as many different personalities. Tastes. Textures. Perspectives.
This place was a good place. As said before, it was not a happy place. But not all happy things are good, and not all good things are happy. It was a creative place. A dark place. A fantastical place. All in the eyes of a would-be child in a world of adults. Berating, beating down, questioning their every move. Questioning every action, every dream, every aspiration. Discouragement. Deception. Manipulation.
So this is why the place existed. It was not a happy place, but a good place. A distraction from the hateful world outside itself. But it was a place of illusion, and the soul who created it knew this, and that is why it was not happy. There was the illusion of happiness, but deep down, the child knew that it was not real. And the tears became the rivers, and the shudders earthquakes, and the cries thunder in the valleys.
It was an outlet for the child's imagination. Though the child knew it was not real, sometimes the illusion was enough for the young heart to follow. The child could do anything they wanted there, away from prying eyes. They could create. Flow. Dream. Build.
Be.
Whoever they wanted to be.
Whatever they wanted to be.

It was a beautiful place.
An escape.

The lights are strung across the sky
As if to count the lost goodbyes
Each star a life, a love so bright
Together they defeat the night

To make it safe, and full of light
To send away the doubt and fright
To send out love in shooting stars
And to erase the pain and scars

Wish upon a star tonight
And into your once blinded sight
A love will shine, like lighted candle
Nothing's too much for you to handle

The stars are candles in the sky
Upon the canvas up so high
I wish upon a shooting star
And ask the nighttime where you are.