I Miss the Stars In the beginning, I am a seed. Small and round, the dirt surrounds me, soft and tender, and I catch my first glimpse of life. I spread wings. Soon enough, a sapling emerges from my seed, cracking open and rendering it useless. I see through my sapling, and I see life. The grass is first, almost as tall as me, the green flakes clouding my vision of the world. Soft weeds poke out from under the ground as well, and their mellow colors seem to deceive from their more malicious intent. My sapling sprouts leaves, and I see the sky. In all of its glory, soft white clouds poke through the fabric of the sky. Someday, maybe I’ll be tall enough to reach them. As I grow taller and taller, I see more and more things. The rolling hills that poke above the grass and seem to hold more life than anything I’ve seen before, the sun shining in through the thick branches of my brothers and sisters. Someday I will be taller than them all. One placid summer night, my branches have finally grown thick enough to peek out of the forest, and outside I see hues of pink, orange and yellow, swirled together as one. I watch as the colors seem to move like they possess a mind of their own. It’s shrinking rapidly, and in a matter of minutes, it’s gone, replaced by the dark, gloomy prospect of night. I hate the Night. Nothing to do, nothing to see. Someday I will fly higher than the sky itself, fly high enough so I never leave those soft hues of pink, orange, and yellow. I will reach the stars, and I will dance among them. I hear things. The shrill shriek of a train, barely audible in the distance. The rusty wheels creak down the railroad as it speeds by, fading into nothing as soon as it comes. More regularly, I hear birds, I hear squirrels, and I hear the whispers of my brothers and sisters. And soon enough, I am taller, so tall my branches peek above all the rest, and I finally see the sky without anyone else blocking my way. Soon I’ll be among the stars. The forest goes unbothered, and I sit, listening to my brothers and sisters whisper their silent songs. I am peeking at the sky, waiting, a thing that’s grown so familiar to me. I feel a pecking at my highest branch. It is small and colorful, wide dark eyes blinking wildly back at me as it chirps lightly. I’ve seen other creatures like this, but never this vibrant, never this bold. I watch silently as it puts its light weight on my highest branches, chipping away at the soft wood as it hops around. My branches rustle at the sudden movement, and it flies away abruptly. I watch it go mournfully, as it reaches heights I still have not peaked. Some part of me envies it, some part admires it. And I am alone, again. It visits me again, then again, and soon I find myself caring for this small creature. It seems to come every day, and sometimes it even stays to watch the colors in the sky display its triumphs. It sings songs disguised by brisk and beautiful whistles, and I try my best to decipher their meaning. I hang on to its every sound, and it clings to my branches like it depends on it, when we both know it doesn’t need it to soar. I watch and learn as the days go by, and suddenly the whispering of my brothers and sisters isn’t the only thing that I crave. I learn to care and need and miss one small creature with a heart the size of my seed. Is this what love feels like? I cannot die. I will take this creature with me to the stars. Time is odd, and after some time, the bird comes back, with sticks and mud, and beautiful songs to share with me. It makes a nest, on my highest branches, and I watch over it day and night. A season later, I teach the young ones the colors of the sky. I watch as they take their first flight, and only a little trace of envy
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