Starlight

Sometimes, late at night, I find myself unable to sleep. I lay awake and let my mind wander where it wants. I'm drawn to the shadows strewn across the floor, cast by the gentle glow of the world outside. The moon is hidden or new, I don't know which, and I end up thinking about the stars that fill the sky by themselves. It's sad. After a journey of trillions of miles, though vast, empty, nothing, the starlight stops here. It dies here, so far from home, just so we can see some pretty dots. I walk to the window, intrigued by the silence of the witching hour. I feel small and helpless. Suddenly, I run, stumbling in the darkness. Gently, I lift my mirror off my closet door, and carry it to the window. I lean it on the floor, so the starlight reflects off it. The light does not die here.