To whom is reserved the blackness of darkness forever: whoever has seen the Earth from beyond Saturn, a pixel on a digital print. And even there the distant stars seem exactly just as distant.
There is a tale I read when I was in grade school. No one understood why I hated one of the two protagonists, and neither did I until today, when I thought about it again.
It was a story about a man and a star. The star sparkled “Come” to the man, the man tried to get to the star. But, of course, all attempts failed. The man fell off towers, mountains, got bruised from his other attempts I don’t remember… and the star always sparkled “come”.
The man then dug a hole to escape from the star, so he wouldn’t need to see it anymore.
He hit some sort water current, a strong wellspring, and was catapulted up to the star, who still sparkled.
Wandering stars in the blue
could not be born cause of you
Wandering stars in the blue
could not be born cause of you
Oh why can’t I be green
as the grass beneath my feet?
As fresh as the dew hits
the ground in the morning
And not yellow like bumble bees
Please take me off my knees, my knees
I don’t wanna be red forever
Wandering stars in the blue, etc.
I’ve been looking at the moon
But I’ve been thinking of myself
I’ve got me under my own skin
I don’t need nobody else
I’m looking at the moon
But I’m thinking of myself
I’ve got me under my own skin
I don’t need nobody else
Wandering stars in the blue, etc.
If I could have sunlight
in the palm of your hand
I’d take the moonlight instead
If I could have sunlight
in the palm of your hand
I’d take the moonlight instead
Why do the only things we ever truly want to reach for always remain so impossibly far away…
He’s with me, and with her… and I love him too much to walk away… but he’ll never just be mine…
I cant be that girl. you are so brave.
i dont know if i can ever have who i’m meant to be with.
Surprisingly, if we move as close to a star as we are to the sun right now, the number of stars in our sky will not change.
It is a matter of scale, if anything.
There is a tale I read when I was in grade school. No one understood why I hated one of the two protagonists, and neither did I until today, when I thought about it again.
It was a story about a man and a star. The star sparkled “Come” to the man, the man tried to get to the star. But, of course, all attempts failed. The man fell off towers, mountains, got bruised from his other attempts I don’t remember… and the star always sparkled “come”.
The man then dug a hole to escape from the star, so he wouldn’t need to see it anymore.
He hit some sort water current, a strong wellspring, and was catapulted up to the star, who still sparkled.
Man, I hate that star.
‘There’s a Starman, waiting in the sky.
He’d love to come and meet us but he thinks he’d blow our minds…’
(David Bowie)
Wandering stars in the blue
could not be born cause of you
Wandering stars in the blue
could not be born cause of you
Oh why can’t I be green
as the grass beneath my feet?
As fresh as the dew hits
the ground in the morning
And not yellow like bumble bees
Please take me off my knees, my knees
I don’t wanna be red forever
Wandering stars in the blue, etc.
I’ve been looking at the moon
But I’ve been thinking of myself
I’ve got me under my own skin
I don’t need nobody else
I’m looking at the moon
But I’m thinking of myself
I’ve got me under my own skin
I don’t need nobody else
Wandering stars in the blue, etc.
If I could have sunlight
in the palm of your hand
I’d take the moonlight instead
If I could have sunlight
in the palm of your hand
I’d take the moonlight instead
From “My Love Grows Deeper,” Nelly Furtado
I can only hope.