you were born to an audience of stars, little one, and their blessings have been many. the watching constellations fawned over your every inch; they spoke to you through the wind and taught you to stand, to run, to sing, to conquer, knowing that you were destined to endure a finite span.

they loved you, and you came to love them in return.

they taught you their names. not all of them — even you, with your eagerness and your unchallenged optimism could never fathom to know them all — but enough to satisfy, enough to fill you with their light. through you, others came to an understanding. you became their voice and your devotion never wavered.

alas, your childhood came to an end so quickly, violently, for the way of men has always been a fickle and devious thing. your eye wavered for a heartbeat and things began to crumble; even the strongest marble can be chipped away, given time. and so you faltered — your eye, like many men before you, was caught by earthly delights.

she took you from the stars and then, just as swiftly, you were left behind. you mourned her, little one. you cried for her and cursed the very stars which had once been so precious — stolen away you had said. as if the attention of the mercurial heavens had been so invested. but the stars, they watched you still, cared for you, and you grew cold to them.