The Boy Who Tried To Capture The Stars
There were three of them that night.
The first, with a boyish grin and bright, glinting eyes – hard to miss, harder even to forget; with eyebrows that have yet to furrow permanently into an angry frown; with passion dashing through him; with liquid determination flowing through his veins.
The second, with grace and a sharp edge; with precision to her movements and cold efficiency to her words; with thoughtfulness, compassion and care imbued so deeply within her, swimming in her eyes, but only channeled to one person – two, at most; with a bond so sincere, attached to her only person in the world, that if one broke so would the other.
The third, with a bounce to his steps and intelligence igniting his being, soft as a candle yet empowering as the sun; with caution and fear blowing out his candle and clouding his sun; with majestic, sweeping hand gestures – limbs waving about as he rambled endearingly about the worlds beyond; with all his trust, given to the boy with the emerald eyes and the once-in-a-century prodigy.
They were infallible under the stars.
Blink, blink, blink. Blink.
None of them talked. There were no petty attempts at conversation, only three children, braving icy waters and jagged rocks as they tumble down the cliff of life to wander amongst the galaxies.
They were enthralled by the trails of silver splashed across the night sky – the very ones that seemed to be inviting them to explore what laid beyond the horizon.
The brazen one told a story about a boy who tried to capture the attention of the stars. They were pretty, and they were there, so he set his sights upon them. But they were always beyond his reach. There was always the moon present, leeching off the might of his prize. Or the clouds – they did that sometimes, hinder him from the incandescent drops of glitter, from what was rightfully his.
He laughed then – not because it was silly to try and mesmerize the stars – oh, no. He laughed because he thought the boy stupid for failing.