The night sky illustrates hope. Pastel like black softens the tree tips camped behind my apartment. Clusters of star-dust intersect, mimicking pristine brushstrokes on a canvas. I hold the front door open for my dad, who closes it behind me. My boots squeak, imprinting footprints on freshly fallen snow, as I crunch across the ice-coated parking lot. Me and my dad climb inside our van, and clip on our seat belts while I cross my legs to keep warm. We are going to visit an ill family member.
As if someone dry coughed, the van growls hoarsely. We slip away, whisking past columns of dew sprayed apartments. While my father pauses at a cross light, I glance outside of the frosted window, squinting. Are those distant constellations of fantasia in fact, pot-bellied planets whirling and could those rail-thin asteroids rocketing through space be boarded with extraterrestrial life?
We enter the hospital. In the waiting room behind glass doors, a mother hushes her groggy child. A time-worn man lies back on a chair. I notice the scabs encrusted all over his body. This hospital illuminates societal stigmas such as sickness, grief, and death with unshakable honesty. But it also reminded me of how I was able to soar beyond a loss, a tragedy. Peering above at an eternal beauty reveals what it truly means to live! Me and my dad stand in line. He shifts nervously, but I am calm, humbled by the night sky. No longer do I feel so alone.
Writing and Igniting 