I met him on the stars, he was playing a strange tune. For years he said, he’d sat and played in hopes that someone would see his beautiful melody. The keys of his piano danced on their own, each a mesmerising sight to behold, the notes themselves, they laughed and cried and oh! How wondrous they were. The old man, with the strange tune, his fingers like meteors fell, what invisible orchestra joined in, I could not tell. His greying hairs stood on end, his giggling eyes rolled to the back of his loony head, I could not differentiate his arms from his feet, or where his eyebrows meet,(was he human? It did not matter). He was a sight to envy. His very bones seemed alive, and not alive as we know it, not alive barely surviving, but Alive! Breathing, joyous living! Extracting some surreal ecstasy from the very atmosphere, I could not afford. I longed to keep watching him, freezing this state of passive bliss, but bliss turned to loneliness and loneliness to pity, so, I moved on. Maybe I’d see him again.
The other stars weren’t as lively, some were spectacularly, and others just barely. When it was time, I descended, from the stars to my shoes, hiding away my little bit of stardust, for a later use. The sun shone way too bright, for my eyes, to aid my sight. I pulled my knees closer, the jeans hung cold and damp. Ironically, it was a darker night under the streetlamp. I tried to get up, to walk and locomote, but my legs, their one job it may be, failed to transport. Again I tried, again I failed, and thus the struggle continued, until much later that day. Finally, when I stood on my own two feet, I made it to the telephone booth. “We’re on our way! Don’t go anywhere!” I had nowhere to go, and in all my life, I had gotten nowhere. As I waited outside the telephone booth, hopeless and cold, some children ran past, and I wondered at the stories they were told. Of hope, and joy and life. Of significance, success and genius. To smile and agree and frown when things get serious. You either matter or you don’t, it's that simple. If everybody was special, then nobody really was. And that, at least to me, was the simplest principle.
Day was exhausting, in its relentless smiles. Some of them genuine, and all of them lies. Still, I wore my facade to perfection, to pretense I was no exception. Like everyone I played the game, the stardust under my bed was my escape. Voices droned on, some were in my head, I could not tell, to which I listened, which I heard, both were insignificant. Eventually when life cleared and settled into slumber, I peered into the depths below my bed, waiting for the monster. “Bring the stardust, and my shoes!” The shoes are important, you see, they help me hold on to my reality. Travelling to the galaxy is enthralling, but dangerous too, it's easy to lose sight of what makes you. Tonight, we visited different stars, my friendly monster and I, tonight we decided to go to Mars, or at least give it a try. En route, we met a tired lady, warming her toes in a fire, giggling away to glory. In her hand was a book, and tears streamed from her face, what passion possessed her, I could not place. Beauty lies with strange creatures and indeed, the next star-keeper was beautiful in nature. A sad beauty, but beauty nonetheless, they were surrounded by mesmerising poems, thoughts and effects. Sometimes they shook their head in dismay and banished one into the night, but soon it found its way back, casting a brighter light. “We must find a star to possess for our own!” How human a thought! To wish for a home. For an anchor to steer the ship, something to hold on, I am myself, and I am enough.
