Don’t They Get Tired?

 I look up at the sky, watching the beams of sunlight slowly disappear behind the clouds. I stand there, watching day turn into night, watching the sky turn into midnight blue with pink hues still seeping in below. Despite the sheer beauty and vastness of the world above, a world where clouds and stars are like dreams, whispers woven into the air, a single tear rolls down my cheek. I look up at the sky and think, “Don’t the stars get tired of shining so bright?”. So alluring, so illuminating, but don’t stars get tired too? I try to imagine them staring down at me from above, watching the tears sting my eyes and roll down my cheeks, laughing and teasing me for losing my spark so easily. The thought of it nearly makes me laugh. “But stars don’t just shine,” I say softly to no one but myself and the world above. “They burn. Sometimes they blast. You know, like supernovas.’ I finally sit down and look at the now starry sky, a dark black shade now showing the dazzling stars ever so clearly. "Even beautiful things break. Even stars burst." I say to myself, louder this time. I look at the gleaming white moon. "Is that ok?" I say softly. "To bear cracks, to break, to be incapable of shining sometimes?" I blink back more tears, not those of grief or weight, but of acceptance. The once glistening moonlight seems to drift away and hide behind a cloud, like a whimsical farewell, a soft goodbye. 'But the moon isn't gone,' I say. 'it'll come back tomorrow. And the day after. It's never gone. It's like taking a break."