It's late in the night and my brain just exploded with thoughts and ideas
I've forgotten, or maybe I just never knew, that moment when I realized I love to watch stars. What motivated me to do such a meaningless activity. I mean, I don't know why, but I think I've forgotten the origin of it all, why I'm even enjoying the things I'm doing nowadays. But the passion was once there. I once felt it. Buried somewhere I can't reach, sank into the deepest area of my mind where memories dissolve into something else. I'm feeling it. Something like feeling without reason. I listen to Wagner's depiction of evening star and witnessed Rachmaninoff's stars falling, in the second movement of his first piano concerto, cascading into silence, in to the tranquil lake. Did I love stars first, or did the music teach me? Another thing I've forgotten. The order of things. What came first doesn't matter when everything blurs together.
Probably the distance. Stars kept mysterious because of the distance. Unreachable. That's the feeling, wanting something you can never touch. Like finding your own self through other eyes, through the mirror of the world. Ironically, stars are gigantic. Massive. Burning. And yet through all that distance, atmosphere, clouds, pollution, time, they arrive as pinpricks. Small enough to wish upon. But will that ever be too late to be seen? Stella, the fallen stars, are the things which people make wishes upon. Too cruel to wish upon, upon their death. Do they, do they ever know how they were thought about by human beings? Do they know their falling was considered beautiful by us? The memories have also fallen, like stars. The wishes I once wish upon on the stars dropped into the tranquil lake, one by one, causing multiple ripples. They disappear and resurface from the time as if nothing happened, and again, disappeared, like they were never there, like I never stood beneath those stars, never looked up, never wondered why...