Stars

Once in your life, you picked your own stars. You align them in such a way that they would glow as bright as what you perceived them to be- in your dreams, in your fairy tales, and even in your emptiness.

They seemed to twinkle perfectly during the first few nights. Brightly in the succeeding months. Just right to remain as stars. But the fire in it slowly got blown by the wind. And the remaining fire shared the scathe of what was left.

A number of balls of fire passed, putting some more flame on the fire. But, in the end, the wind drawn the fire.

Nothing was left but the memory of the stars.