Eighty-One
I used to think that the stars were burning - tiny bits of fire and spark hung magically on the evening sky.
But when Fairytales, stories, literature, science and religion were introduced to me, all cramped in a decade's worth of life, my perspective changed.
The stars that I once looked at became nothing more than distant balls of nuclear energy, while appearing still as souls, guides, characters, and every other things the human mind associated them with.
And in my acceptance of the paradox that was their meaning, I began to realize that everything in this world, in the universe, and beyond, is no more than a collection of thoughts intricately laced by atoms and forces - their meanings and worth forever dependent to the imagination.