Bright Star

Outside my window I can spot a single star. It's quite peculiar, because I thought on a cloudless night such as this, the sky would be littered with stars. Yet there is only one lonely glow. At first I thought it was a plane, but that should have passed by now.

I wonder what it's doing, glued to the sky. It's as if someone had forgotten it, left it behind and never realised their loss--- or perhaps realised and simply didn't care. And I wonder, who would be there to catch it, when that star fell? Perhaps we'd all grab the edges of our pockets and make a wish, but that is all we would do. When the bright star is deposed of its lonely heavenly throne, when it tumbles through the night sky and sinks into the darkness beyond the stretch of our sight--- what then?

I'd like to imagine that there is a pair of hands, outstretched, ready to receive the star's fall. Somewhere, perhaps in the desolate countryside, or perhaps in the centre of an old city, will be someone offering their hands. Be those hands innocent and pure, or bloodied and tainted--- it does not matter.

Because the star might have its own wish too--- a wish to be caught by someone; anyone. Whatever the reason, be it simple altruism or concealed greed- perhaps all that a star needs is the warmth of 37 degrees Celsius, to surround it gently in the dark, cold... and most lonely night.