On Constellations
To the stars that shine brightly at night.
I have this image in my mind now—whenever I meet someone new, or even when I think about someone from my past. I picture myself, standing alone, looking up at the night sky, a sky full of stars.
Each star? It’s a person.
A moment.
A memory.
These stars—they represent the people I’ve met before, the relationships I’m holding onto now, and even those I haven’t met yet—the ones still waiting, out there, ready to fill the empty spaces.
Some stars shine brightly, lighting up the sky, impossible to ignore. Others? They’re faint, distant, the remnants of my past. Stars that I still think about from time to time, but not as much as I used to. And then there are the ones that have already died out, their light still visible in my night sky, still echoing the moments, the lessons, the love, the heartbreak. They’re gone—but the light remains.
And the most beautiful part?
The constellations.
Some of these stars—my friends, my family—they connect, forming patterns, lines, stories in the sky. They become my guiding lights, the ones I follow when I lose my way. When life feels heavy, when the fog rolls in and I can’t see what’s in front of me, I just look up, search for the constellations, and there they are—leading me forward.
They’ll guide me out of the woods,
out of the fog,
to a clearing,
an open field,
where I can see the sky again—
where clarity shines,
as bright as the stars above.
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