As the piss colored skies give way to darkness, the stars reveal their presence one again. So many bodies of light and warmth are visible, yet the night is black and cold.
Whilst walking past obligatory strung lights and decorations that have, not unlike the season itself, faded and lost their initial grandeur to the subtle brutality of time, I contemplate if those same stars that we look upon with feelings of bewilderment and wonder look down upon us inversely with feelings of disgust and disinterest, or perhaps even sympathy for our minimal duration, and for the comparative insignificance we possess when juxtaposed against the rest of the universe.
Distracted by such thoughts, I take no notice of the uneven cracked pavement upon which I trek, resulting in me losing my footing and falling to the concrete. Upon colliding with the ground, sensation floods to the point of impact, and I am reminded quite uncomfortably of my existence. I compose myself and begin walking once more, inspecting the bruise that serves as a reminder of my clumsiness.
Continuing to survey my minor injury, a thought materializes in my mind. Perhaps the stars look upon us not with disgust, but rather a feeling of admiration or even jealousy for our imperfections, for our ability to feel sensations such as pain or coldness, and possibly even for our short life-spans. After all, what good is immortality and warmth if you cannot share it with any living thing, and are cursed to simply watch as people live out their lives and attempt to find happiness?
As I approach the door to my place of residence, I look back up at those glowing entities of light and warmth one last time, uncertain if I feel envious or sympathetic for them in all their perfection and beauty.