The stars are dying. Slowly but surely. In a blaze of wonder we will never see, their magic ceases. But don’t tell them. We wouldn’t want their light to dim. But I am not a star, so I think on the secret the stars can’t know. I feel as though I dim when I remember I share the stars fate. But will it be a blaze of wonder? Or merely fade like the moon at dawn? Maybe the stars know the answers, all the answers, but are scared to burden us.