It didn't matter; the wind blew either way, you little whisper of a person past the stones near the streams that ran throughout the mountain. Head resting on clouds and looking up at the stars that regained supremacy in the sky once more, after dragging down the sun giant. I'd watch it dwindle pass from the window of my room. Every time they sank back beneath a wave in the clouds, I'd say a prayer that would never reach them, never reach anyone. And when I was 14, I stopped sending them prayers and wishes every night, and then every week, every month, until now. Eventually the stars fell down forever, and the sun. The only thing that remained was that clouds and a constant maple sky. I believed it was because my wishes stopped holding them up, and I knew it.
So they went by, one, two, three, four. Like dominoes of colors from green to yellow to brown to white. And each time they went by the people would walk out into the day or the night or sometime in between when everything was either white or gray or black, dressed in dresses and suits of red. They'd go out there underneath the sky and look up and sing their prayers into the sky together, hoping to lift the stars back up from beneath the mountains, lift the sun from underneath the still water, and lift the moon out from beside the grass. What I thought it was, was that none of them said anything about anyone else, just about themselves. I sighed and let the world be for once when I was 18.
Became a person and thought more about myself.
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