The stars are dying out, it seems.

When I was younger I’d look up and see an innumerable glittering curtain, decorating my favourite time of day. I was afraid of the dark back then, but mum turned on her stoic magic once again and suddenly I had my own moon and three stars, watching over me in my bedroom.

There have been times when I’ve been amongst them, and count myself the luckiest human alive for the chance to add my light to the luminous chorus - but now I feel yoked by earthen chains to gravity. With each night that passes more sparks go out, extinguishing me back into that lampless void whilst simultaneously moving the light switch.

That sky, full of stars, is dead and cold

A place, once, so magical

now hurt to behold