The Stars

The lights go out, so I lay in the dirt and look up to the stars. They wink at me, and I wink back. They whisper to me, so I unravel the yarn that is their story. This one was born ten thousand years before. Yet I am the first to see her infinite beauty. This one fell asleep ten thousand years before. And I am the last to bask in his aged light. How do we justify existence? By the presence of the stars.