I lie on the grass. It's cold and maybe itchy on my elbows. But when I look above, I see my friends.
There are twinkly stars, some call them balls of fire far away. I call them home far away.
When I'm lonely, they whisper stories softly in the wind. Sometimes, they glow brighter and tell me:
"Always follow the shimmery path, it leads where dreams unfold in gentle hands."
Do stars remember us? I think they might forget me, but I won't forget them.