Everyone sees the same night sky a little differently. It’s been compared to gods and goddesses, a loved one or infinity, fear or beauty, some see it as just shiny thingys floating in the sky. But it’s always the same sky, seen a bit differently to everyone. 

They see it as hope, that even though everything changes and moves and leaves them the stars will always be there for them. 

They see it as wishes, passing by with just enough time for your heart to beat and for a secret to be whispered. 

They see it as a mystery, that you don’t want to question, just to look up until you feel dizzy and like you’re twirling along with the stars. 

They see it as a memory, of their childhood that they grew up looking up at, wondering about. 

They see it as something filling them with hope and love and wonder and mystery and joy and everything else, making them dizzy and happy. 

They see it as a part of themselves, a part of their past and their story they’re writing for themselves, their version of the night sky.