White.

_Bleak_.

Red.

_It burns._

Blue.

_It’s thriving._

_…_

__

I want to be a blue star. I want to thrive like them, and shine brighter.

Blue seems sad and meek at first, but I’ve always thought underlying meanings are everything.

Sometimes I have so many thoughts I want to burst. Sometimes I burn cuts into my skin, one for each thought to remind me of how bright I am, like a star.

Others tell me I’m brilliant, I’m as bright as my smile. I like to believe them, and this helps me.

Drifting between one and another of my kind keeps my head quite.

My fingers itch to try it.

To burst a new nebula, die a new star, cluster new beginnings and feel as you are.

I scraped circles into the moon, carving out a face to resemble you.

Many people deny me of my feat.

They say it’s just nothing talk. But I made it just for you, my dear.

Why don’t you appreciate my light I’ve gifted you, as it appears in its fullest once a month?

Nevertheless I don’t mind if you refuse, I’ll continue to flit and float amongst the empty space. The nothingness is starting to fail me as my thoughts travel back.

_I want to burn like a star again._