A star, with its spindly long fingers, reached out as if to pluck me from a dream.
I had never believed, or perhaps always believed, that shooting stars, with their sparkling teeth and full lungs, would care to cast a glance my way. Preying, as love does, on the innocent and hopeful. It was not my greenness that predisposed me to such starving fires. It was the freefall. Knowing, in a vacuum, gravity affects all objects at the same rate. So that when I look back upon earth, I know I am not falling towards, but around. And that as I see the stardust trailing, I know a star's velocity is not away, but through me.
