Do you think the sun gets lonely up there?

It sits, it waits, it shines.

It makes people happy with the warmth it radiates.

It stays like that until the moon comes.

The moon cools and calms people down.

The moon is a relaxing side, contrasting the sun.

Which do people like better?

One who shines so bright they burn,

Or one who does nothing so long they fade?

The answer is, none.

People would rather not have any of them at all.

They would rather the stars,

Who look pretty,

Who shine softly,

Who never fade unless a burst of shimmering rocks.

They don’t care about the sun, or the moon.

At least, in my experience, they don’t.

I am the sun.

Until they don’t like me.

So I change to the moon.

Yet they still don’t like me.

And somehow,

I can’t be a star.

Ever.

It’s never me.

It has never been me.

It will never be me.

You will never appreciate me as much as you appreciate them.

I am just your last resort.

Forever.

And it will never change.

At least…

I hope it would.

I hope you’d notice me,

I hope he’d notice me,

I hope she’d notice me,

I hope they’d notice me,

I hope I’m noticed.

But it’s just a wish.

On your favorite little

_Shooting Star._