Dear Friend

Perhaps the night is the best example I could give. Like a night, you were full of stars. Sometimes, stars can make our brains stop in their tracks for a split second, and it is then that we think it is midday.
I recall meeting you was as random as finding a circus-trained dog abandoned alone on the streets. I had given something, something whose significance I have yet to understand: words and the promise of words.
I thought you were in for the whole ride, in spite of the pointed pebbles and cobwebs. I thought you were in for the whole thing, from the evening of pale skies till the blushful dawn. But I was wrong.
Words, or the promise of words, is a funny thing. Would I have renounced light had I known?
But I suppose not. Because you were never a sun and still you shone bright like Mars. Because the games we played found my hands still innocent in their style, and we were in for the universal championship for a while. Short, I say now, but the moon changed many colors before we parted. Too many for me, not enough for you.
I do understand our lives are made up of many small fireflies. In hindsight, you were not even that big. But you were a friend somehow few others managed. Maybe thanks not only to your nature and words (or promise of words), but also thanks to the ozone layer.
Now I have the sun. I have global warming and seaside and fireflies are naught by comparison. But you are still engraved like a rune on my history.
You, a star in your own way.