Arguing with a star

Arguing with a star


I laid out in my backyard and looked up at the stars.

The stars were twinkling. I wished I could twinkle. I felt depressed.

A star waved one of its rays and yelled, “Hey, cut that out!!”

I said, “What do you mean?”

The star said, “You know, feeling all sad because you think we got it better.”

I said, “But you do, don’t you?”

The star said, “It depends on the day.”

I said, “What do you mean?”

The star said, “For instance, last night it was all cloudy. All the shining work I did was for naught. I might as well have not even have tried.”

I said, “I don’t understand, why did you try shining if you could see that no one would notice?”

The star said, “Because I’m a work-a-holic. One day it will drive me into my grave.”

I said, “Your death is called a Supernova. It’s one of the most beautiful and brilliant occurrences in space.”

The star said, “Oh. Never mind then.”

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