A star falls from the sky and into your hands. Then it seeps through your veins and swims inside your blood and becomes every part of you. And then you have to put it back into the sky. And it’s the most painful thing you’ll ever have to do and that you’ve ever done. But what’s yours is yours. Whether it’s up in the sky or here in your hands. And one day, it’ll fall from the sky and hit you in the head real hard and that time, you won’t have to put it back in the sky again.
Maybe that’s the way of love. It doesn’t wait to be invited in, and it won’t be coerced. It gently creeps under your skin, a mild itch at first, not giving itself away in case you scratch it and cause an infection. But then it sinks in deeper, getting into your bloodstream. It travels. By the time it reaches your brain and you’re aware of the infection, it’s already taken over your heart. It’s a captor, a guard, imprisoning you in the clutches of another, knitting the fabric of your own life to somebody else’s, whether you like it or not.
And for someone who had never had a mother and father, and who had never loved or been loved, marveled at the ways in which feeling so wonderful, could also leave one open to so much pain. In a strange way she also wanted to care about someone so much, that she knew it could hurt.
She might’ve previously veered off track and landed straight into foolish land, but how many foolish lands she had to land to recognize, how unpredictable life is and then apologize to those she had hurt when she tried forcing things to fit in place?