Pinpricks

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I sit, perched on the back steps, staring up at the blackness of the night sky, the misty clouds that drift between my body and the stars, the deepness of space, the potential of the universe.

I'm overwhelmed, contemplating the endlessness I can see from my tiny piece of earth. I gaze at the twinkling pinpricks of light, traveling to me from lightyears away, considering how huge the universe really is, how insignificant my body, heart, mind, and soul are in comparison.

I glance at the few stars I can see from my perch and compare them to experiences I've had, experiences I've yet to have. How many pinpricks of pain, heartbreak, confusion, fear will I experience in my lifetime? More or less than the stars I see before me now?

How many pinpricks of pain will I need to experience before I can form a beautiful but imperfect constellation? How many heartbreaks before I find my joy, my rest?

I consider the pain that so many before me have experienced and realize that my twinkling pinpricks of pain are insignificant compared to theirs. How can I dare to dream of forming a constellation while so many have collected thousands more stars than I, and they have yet to build their own constellations?

What is fair? Does fair even matter? Does the universe care about fairness?

What can I venture to ask, to dream, to expect, when I have not paid my dues and collected my stars?

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