Star Light, Star Bright | TeenInk

Star Light, Star Bright

October 4, 2011

I sat on the wooden planks, my feet hanging over the side, my toes dipping into the cool Pacific waters. A chill ran through my body as my feet sunk into the cool liquid. I shivered.

It was chilly outside, the wind stinging my cheeks as it brushed my skin. I loved the feeling. I always sat on the docks, my bare feet sliding into the chill. I used to watch the lighthouse shine its rays over the waves, alerting passing by ships of land. That was when people were there, their voices rising above the sound of waves slapping against the shore. It was dark, though, the light having burnt out a while before. No ships came by. No one needed to be alerted.

I sat alone. No light beam, no voices. No one was there. No one needed to be there. I remember being a child and sitting with my mom, laughing and talking. I remember watching the sailboats in the sunset and waving to the people on wake-boards and tubes. But the waters were empty, too late for anyone to be out. It was my favorite time of day.

I liked watching the stars twinkle in contrast to the blackness, adorning the sky like little flecks of glitter. I was fascinated with the stars. They were so tiny compared to the moon, so minuscule. Small things are sometimes the greatest, though, or that’s what I thought. I thought that even the small things deserved credit, they were there weren’t they? They stood the test of time, still twinkling and shining every night. They were durable. Strong.

I raised my hand, reaching for a star. I closed my eyes and breathed in the cool air, tasting the salt on my tongue even though my mouth was closed. I opened my eyes again and felt heat. I opened the palm of my hand slowly, seeing a small, flickering light between my fingers. I smiled as I felt the shape twitch. Then I opened my hand and there was nothing.

There never was anything.

Similar Articles


This article has 1 comment.

on Oct. 14 2011 at 2:25 pm
collegegirladventures GOLD, Mequon, Wisconsin
10 articles 8 photos 307 comments

Favorite Quote:
A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep.

~Salman Rushdie

beautiful!!! wish i could write poetry like you! im serious: its so hard to come up with the words sometimes...