Stardust.

There was a boy who could harvest star dust.

All purple and pretty.

He held it in his hand, I saw it. I saw it crackle and fizz. I heard the rhythm flowing through my feet and deep in my chest my heart skipped with the beat.

He winked at me with a smile as bright as sparklers.

And then he threw it into the sky.

With a deep breath.

And closed eyes.

We waited.

And then the sky exploded.

Music fell from the moon and fireworks rippled the clouds. All pink and silver and gold.

They were loud and they were bright. We had never seen such a sight.

And then the people started to dance.

With two left feet and wide smiles.

They hugged their friends.

Kissed their brothers and sisters- the family we make in school. The coded language made in and around pints of beer and the things we won’t tell mum about.

A community of chaos.

And the dancing continued all night long. It continued until the sky became peach again, the slow yellow waving through the trees. Smiles became sleepy while the smell of champagne faded from the breeze.

It was something we were part of. We saw the magic in his fingers, the twinkle in his eye. All together and all forgotten about war. We remembered why we are, and what we came here for. Jazz and jade coloured our journey home. But me and him, we stayed.

I thanked him for a beautiful evening, for all that he had made. He thanked me for the silence shared in the morning. He waited and held my gaze.

Star dust still glitters in his palms. He is blessed because he cares. And me, well I enjoy the journey and being part of something greater. For when he throws up his handful of stardust…we all get to sparkle.