Star Dust

Cobwebs spilled over onto my palm,
As I held it out under the night sky.
The silvery threads were covered with stardust,
Not the kind from Neil Gaiman's book
But the kind that covers your dreams.
Some call it fairy dust,
I like to dedicate it to the stars.
Isn't there something about the night sky
That makes all the worries in the world so much lighter,
The fear of turning into the 'Stella' of your life
The fear of not being good enough
The fear of everything.
I have a friend,
He's probably sitting in his room in London right now
Wondering who this friend is.
He plays the piano like a dream,
Like the night sky.
Every time he placed his fingers on the keys
I would close my eyes and remember the stars
And when I would open my eyes,
Star dust would be falling from the ceiling.
My mother's favourite song was "starry starry nights" by Don McLean
I never really understood it,
Not really,
Not until I finally saw the beauty of the stars
In all of it's fabulous glory.
Star dust is falling,
All over me,
All over you,
All over us.
And for the first time,
In a long time,
I'm not worried.
Which is funny because you bother me,
Everyday
All day
Any day.
I wish I could say goodbye to you,
But I can't,
Not yet.
And now,
You probably think that I'm an egomaniac.
I probably am.
There are too many "I's",
To many "me's",
And barely any "them's".
But isn't that what makes writer's writers?
Not really.
Star dust is what makes writer's writers.
Star dust and depression.