Writing

Gradually, the daylight faded and gave way to a raven-colored blanket that became studded, one by one, in long-ago memories of starlight. I wondered if the stars that once sent those luminescent photons toward my aging eyes still existed. I thought of how my words written within the pages of books were my best imitation of starlight. Someday somewhere, I hoped, someone might read my words and wonder if their creator still “lived”—perhaps in some other dimension. I wonder about that too.