I looked up into the sky and tried to make sense
of the tiny bright needle pricks.
Were they too looking down at me in wonder,
in awe?
Did my existence make them wonder
if something more was possible?

They remain constant,
staring back at me,
unwavering.
The ultimate winner in a staring contest.

My legs grow tired
as I continue to stand on the tips of my toes,
straining to get closer to their vastness.
But alas, vastness was all I felt.
The never ending space between them and me.

I fall to my back
and become one with the Earth below me.
The grass pulls and covers my arms and legs,
promising protection from the cold, night breeze.
I open my mouth,
but words fail me.
Communication with the constellations
is not just verbal confirmation.

So I tilt my head up
and wonder what they’re thinking
as they look below.
Do they even see me?
Or am I nothing, but a pale needle prick on an ocean of green?