Tiny pinpricks in the sky, so far, so small, so infinite. With shimmering colour, you paint the sky with beauty, the dead of the night no longer black, but bright. You watch over us in our gigantic playground, and we keep adding and taking away, creating, but destroying. If you could tell us what you thought, I wonder what you'd say. But you're so far removed, I don't think we would hear you anyway.
We are so small, compared to you; a minuscule dot on the face of the universe; an atom in an ocean. Is it any wonder that we try to break out beyond ourselves? When all seems so vast, the only comfort we have is reaching out to become one with that endless space; to touch something so far beyond us is the only thing we can think of to dull the pain of being so insignificant. We don't like feeling so mortal, so we shake the feeling off by trying to tackle the sky.