Come Wayward Star, the nights wade into darling dreams, and the clouds cushion the silver moon in the sky. Hands reach out for salvation, but instead find idealization—too dear to wash away.
Once upon a time, there was a love so near, the Wayward Star leered enviously. All of its life it had watched from the heavens in the bank of newborn stars, among its brothers and sisters, but had never known love so true.
What would it mean to be cradled?
What would it mean to be understood?
And so, the Wayward Star became a Wayward Soul on the starless earth. It had lost its memories of the heavens, of its truth. Instead, it became a human, mortal and weak. But perhaps, it had always been so, before it had been, when they envied the pure human love of life.
The Wayward one spent a life in dreaming, in wishing upon the sky, the moon, its stars; what is there not to wish upon in the perfect heavens? Yet, among them in the life, the Wayward One could not see, that the earth provided love endlessly.
Winters melt into a lovely Spring, and the clouds cross the skies on a Summer day to provide an alternative to the overbearing rays of the Sun.
Everywhere, there is music.
In between reeds of grass, next to whispering trees, and especially within the hearts of everything living.
The Wayward One had asked once, Why was I born? to the stars.
And to them, the stars replied:
To live a life.
In all of us, I find the Wayward One. They come in different forms each life. And every time, there is always new love to find and share. I have realized in all my livings, all my loves, in all my wandering, that though there is hardship to be found—we cannot know happiness without it.
Everyday we sing to the everything around us, unknowingly, in our heartbeats.
Everyday we curse the everything around us, unknowingly, in our thoughts.
Though there is not always a happy ending for the Wayward One, there is always something to be found and had. In actuality, this is the gift of Life.
And so, Wayward Soul, you who I always know, find Life once again. There are wishes to be made.