Second Starlight
I’m not sure if you ever had something be such a cornerstone to who you are that a good chunk of your life involved the reason behind it.
For me, it was a spark in the dark of the unknown. A glimmer here and there, but nothing that anyone would call constant. Then I started to notice it pass through the small hole in the ceiling at the same time every day, my consistent glow in the darkness. At the time, the part I didn’t really acknowledge at the time was it was persistent, always there when I expected it to be.
Then, when I realized the novelty had passed and this light still continued to exist, I began to converse with it in earnest, not taking it for granted. I confided in it, made sure it had enough to keep coming back, which luckily was not a lot at all. But still, despite the distance we had closed, it was still too far away to really understand it.
It came to a point where I knew I wouldn’t be able to go without seeing it up close. It wasn’t that the distance was subpar, but rather it was this strange magnetism that said I should try to get closer, to be within its vicinity. I know what some might say. That starlight is a sun, and suns can burn too hot if you get too close. But I tried anyways. The universe, however, had different plans.
Right before my journey, the world spun on its head, leaving me just as far as before I started my pilgrimage towards this light. I thought I had lost it as I rushed to reorient myself from this new perspective. I was in a frenzy to find my light in the sky. But luckily, this spinning did not put me out of reach. This light told me our patience would be rewarded, and in time this would be even more worth it.
Eventually, the distance closed again. I gathered my wings and began my journey towards the sky. I had thought of everything since, after all, I had years to prepare for this moment. I knew the inside jokes we shared, I trusted that my light knew everywhere in the sky. I even believed I had made myself fireproof.
How do you think it feels to hug starlight? You’d think you wouldn’t be able to see, that the sheer power of the combustion would take over everything you were. But not this one. I questioned momentarily if it had toned down its shine so that it wouldn’t overcome me. I learned quickly that guess could not be further from the truth.
In a moment that could have been a day or only a minute, I stood in the glow of this light and basked in its warmth. The genuineness it emitted was infectious and the enthusiasm matched its location: out of this world. But what do you think happens when a light that burns so bright meets something just looking to burn?
My supports caught fire, there was a massive flash that startled the nebulae, and in the instant after, my wings were nowhere to be seen. I turned to my starlight to see a spooked expression, as this turn of events something it never expected would happen. The next moment came as little surprise.
I fell.
In the all the ways one can fall, I tumbled. This paradise I had reached slipped from my grasp and my own hubris forced me face-first into the dirt. Disregarding my own well-being, I looked around for my starlight, but it was nowhere to be seen. The embers in my eye also would not disappear, no matter how much I worked at getting it out.
When I did see glimpses of it again, it had returned to the same fleeting looks from years past. When I did catch its eye, it was reserved, afraid to once again cause any harm to me or anything around me. I tried to reach out but it felt like I had caused it immeasurable internal anguish. I wasn’t sure if my starlight would ever want to see me for me ever again.
Just before I had to pack up and find my way home, I saw it again in full force. It was hesitant, but approached me with that pure caring I had come to know from it. I apologized to it more times than I could count and tried to rekindle the spark it had started in me. I thought I had gotten back my light. I thought all wounds healed. But burns are different.
It was strained. While the physical distance had not grown larger, it still felt like an insurmountable gap had formed between me and the starlight. That the more I held on, the further it seemed to stray away from me. I desperately tried to reach out for it, only to feel afterwards like I was more light years away than I had ever been.
I thought it forgot about me. I stopped seeing it every night, its whereabouts and happenings being missed by me. I started to believe that might be for the best. I knew that I had scared it with that flash when it had known nothing of the sort from me before. But then, what felt like a miracle happened.
My starlight reappeared.
It was similar to how it started, with me simply being an observer. With these apparitions, I thought maybe it was okay. Not perfect, but better. I wanted to tell it all about my journey back to the earth, what it had taught me. I wanted to show it how I had managed to clear most of the schmutz away, but still needed its help with the last bit.
I hesitated to reach out, not wanting to force it away again. But I hoped to things even higher than it that this starlight just needed its time before we could get resume what made our connection so special. So to it, I had a short message I said.
“I know what happened led to a lot of discomfort for you. Even with that, you never seemed to falter, at least for long. I felt horrible then for nearly losing a friend and it pains me to think I’ve been put at arms’ reach since I saw you. I All I can ask is, do you think there’s any chance I can get a second chance, starlight?”
This was a long time coming considering when I asked you for your word prompt, but I hope this did it justice. It didn't center around schmutz as much as I had intended, but the concept of needing someone so brilliant's support with clearing it away, coupled with the retelling of Icarus' journey, felt apt. Happy birthday Dimika!