Collecting Stars

A prose poem

I am up in the sky collecting stars. One for each strand of your hair. I will weave them in while you are sleeping. They will glow against your pillow as you dream. But in the morning, when you wake, you won’t see them. They’ll fade with the light like all stars do. But in the darkness, as you begin to drift off to sleep, they will twinkle. And, if you wake before dawn, you won’t be afraid of the dark.