Her thoughts used to shine brighter than the stars. She had millions of them, sparks in the sky of her brain. They were obsessive and confusing, a spiral of things she could never say out loud. They were her wildfires. Uncontrollable, unfathomable and unplanned, raging comets burning any of her sensibility and leaving the people she shared them with in ruins. They were messy, but she liked that. Every sparkling shard was a broken piece of the puzzle that came together to make her galaxy. With her stars she had glowed, and smiled, and all of her imperfections and faults had finally stitched up and she had felt whole again. But people were vicious and time was cruel. Her stitches had burst and her tortured thoughts slowly leaked through the cracks in her mind. Her stars, once burning with naive passion, were gone. All that remained inside of her was stardust, lifeless on the floor of her brain. She used to try and pick it up, gather the dust in a way that you could still see the fragments of her joy, her tears, her fire. But it just slipped through her fingers, and with it any flashes of hope in her empty heart. All of her sparks had burned out. Her soul was forever broken, and that reality had crushed the life out of her. So now she just lets the dust lie there, and waits for a shooting star to appear.