By Myra Gupta
Two shining stars combust into flames when they meet, a nebula of violence and beauty. I often wonder whether these stars, the fine lines that paint the sky with golden-blooming light, feel alone despite being surrounded. Does mirrored similarity make each star drained of its individuality? Each star has a story of its own, yet they’re tossed aside as “one of them all”, why? Is it because the human eye is too lazy to understand the significance of each experience the star has? The moments that let them be part of the wholeness that fills the sky bright?
It’s deemed that life moves fast, it’s said as a fact, some wise words etched in history by the greatest- and yet I cannot bring myself to contradict and deny; it does. It’s all those golden-blooming lights in the sky flashing before your eyes, the same stars you see every night, yet when they’re gone do you really miss their plight? What do these stars mean to one? Some may find them as beacons of hope some may find them ordinary. But, the only eyes in the universe who will prize those monotonous dots of yellow are the observant, the wise, the hopeless wishers and the silent. Their orbs are scarred with knowing the stars are as important as water, sun, earth, and fire. Each star, each memory, each weakness, and each strength, are lost in people’s mind as unturned pages and unopened eyes. These beacons that shape your life are often fated to be insignificant once experienced.
I often sit and recollect these thoughts, hoping that I slowly learn how to appreciate the small moments that made me- me. Holding a coffee mug in my hands every morning, watching Harry Potter with the blanket that hugs me warmly, laughs with friends over stupid things, and smiling at my parents hoping I never have to leave the shell of childhood. Each memory that has molded me into a sculpture of all my hopes, dreams, and desires. I am a woof of all that is me, yet I shroud that light with a cover so opaque the light is suffocated.
Each thought is a thread of love, hate, anger, sensuality and desire. Life is all those emotions brewed together to create the world we breathe in, and each heartfelt touch should paint the world into ornate paintings of living. That is my scintilla.
The light you conceal may be someones beacon of hope, someones star, someones only reason. The stars you cover, the experiences that molded you into a being, are the glow inside you.
Breathe in what you believe and paint the world into the glorious picture you would like to see. This vessel you breathe in is who you are, a prepossessing aura of delight, that deserves to shine. Let Earth be a mosaic of humans, whether it be prized tomorrow or centuries later. Lift the shroud and let the light inside you fill the world with sunlit happiness.
By Myra Gupta
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