I looked up to the sky; stars, a moon.
I gave the moon a compliment, "I adore you for lighting everything up when it's dark." Then I smiled.
"I love the sky." I said, again for a compliment.
"Now, a pretty stars. Many stars. Too many but I have to pick one." I looked at the brightest star that I can see.
"You. You're my wishing star." I insisted, smiling.
But when I started to close my eyes, I heard something.
You can't wish. You can't have a wishing star. You'll never have.
I started to ask why.
You can't blame me that you chose a dead star— most of them? Dead. Dead star, your wishing star.
