There are 34 stars on the sky tonight. 35, if you count that very small one in a corner fold of celestial fabric.

The last times I counted there were 25, then 43 and then 56.

So little stars on the sky...it's almost bare. I want a sky with thousands of stars, so many it would look like someone used it as a pincushion.

I would just sit on the rooftop and patiently count each and every one, and giddily give them names.

But maybe it's better there are only so few here. Maybe it's better because you and I have more chances of looking at the same star, at the same time, thinking the same thing, and not even knowing it.

Maybe we will be looking at the same star all of our lives, and one day, while going after it to catch it between trembling fingers, we'll meet...and decide to share our star.

I want you to be a dreamer, a poet, a gentle soul, someone to make me laugh till I cry of joy, someone to bring me my light and hold me; I want to feel safe in your arms, and be silly with you, laugh at serious things and be serious about the silly ones. I want you to be someone I count stars and fireflies with, and someone I could sing together with a stupid song.

I want you to be the someone I can share my star with.

Someday we will find each other.

Till then, we'll just look at the same star and wish for each other until it drops of the sky for us to catch between our lips.