To wish upon a star is for a man to die of obscurity.
For what good shall it do a man to wish for comeuppance?
Is it not all pre-destined?
What power does a man possess to believe that he can dare to wish for something that he holds no control over nor fully comprehend?
My incapability to understand what is asked of me, leaves me in a constant state of agony and anguish.
So much so that the mere act of a thoughtless wish leaves me feeling desolate.
Is that all I am capable of? To aimlessly long for a destiny in which I am the leading star?
For what good is a star if he cannot read the script?
I can no longer bear to rely upon improv to sustain me.
For each time I deviate from the curated script, my mind and soul remind me of my sorrowful reality.
A life filled with uncertainty, doubt and fear that I may never be able to see the script to the very end.