No one believed the sky would collapse, or that stars would fall- but she kept folding them anyway- tiny paper ones, tucked in glass jars that glimmered under the silver kiss of moonlight.

They were too eternal, too distant for human hands.

She filled jars with little constellations, captured fragments of the sky. Night after night, she sat, twisting coloured paper into sharp creases. The quiet part of her still believed that they would fall, little wishes that would come true if she gave them shape.

And then, one day, the blue shook.

A star broke loose from its place, gliding down like a snowflake, slow and deliberate until it landed in her waiting palm.

It pulsed once, twice, warm and radiant against her skin.

Maybe wishes do come true. Maybe dreams are reachable. Maybe they were only waiting for someone stubborn enough to believe in them.

Signing off…