I am a dreamer of the stars; I strive for the precision of the dazzling specks of white dancing across the sky. As perfect as they fall and fade they are always replaced the same with another speck of white dancing across the sky.

Stars are not remembered as they fall, their remembered in life for their perfection and beauty. Every star diminished into the blanket of the dark sky, every dream forgotten. As immaculate as a shooting star may be, its dream slipping away into the thick night air.

A dream is not reaching for the stars, eventually your star will fall. A dream is doing what it takes to be the constant moon, never dying away into the black blanket of the sky. I am not a dreamer of the stars; it is no dream at all.