Despues que te erre nunca bien te quise.
This proverb didn’t make sense to us. The explanation says that if you wrong someone you love, you grow to hate them, because you fear their revenge. And since love and stars are also things that don’t make sense to us, we decided to make a little fairytale out of them.
When the Sky was just a child everything was darkness. Everything was love and creation. With a pair of scissors in hand, the Sky started to cut a chain of stars, because he wanted to give something back to his love. But he was a child, and children make mistakes. There was one cut to many, and a single star fell to the ground, cut off from the chain. As soon as the Sky saw what he had done, fear took over. Fear convinced him that the stars wouldn’t forgive him, that they would seek revenge. The Sky needed something to protect himself. But all he had was love, and that was what he took. The sky tore apart the chain of stars. He turned his love into hatred, and one by one he threw the stars far, far away from him. And even though the Sky is no longer a child, he still holds on to his hatred. He still keeps the stars apart lest they unite to take revenge.
If I had scissors, I would cut a chain of fish and birds, so that the horizon couldn’t separate them.
It would have been kinder to cut the stars one by one from the start. They would have been able to hold on to their light, to their hope of being able to touch one day, if only they shone bright enough. But the child cut a chain. And the stars know that the best they can hope for is a superficial connection. Because only the tips of their fingers touch, and that is as far as it goes.
I would have used those scissors to cut a smile. To dazzle with it and show my love.
I look at a chain of stars and closeness isn’t the first word that crosses my mind. I feel disappointed. Because that chain is long enough to give a falling star its tail, the chance to fulfill its dreams. But those other stars hold on to it, and refuse to let it fly.
It’s no wonder that the chain ended broken. Scissors are used to separate, they separate every time a cut is made. The curse was there, plain to see. It was only a matter of time before those accursed stars parted forever.
The chain was doomed to break. Because stars are love and the universe is cold. If the stars had remained together, they would only have warmed a small part of the universe. They had to be cursed. They had to be scattered. Because their parting ensures that their love will reach every last corner of the universe.
I am what is left after someone cuts a smile. I am all those discarded pieces of paper that aren’t deemed good enough to be called stars, to be part of the chain.
I am happy with my unbroken chain of stars. With those connected dots that only allow a single way of loving. I am happy. I don’t need to be the one that decides the shape of the constellation. I can still love. And that is enough.
I can understand why no star blamed you for a mistake that any child could have made. You weren’t familiar with those scissors and a star ended up cut from the chain. But you cut and scattered the rest of them knowing what you were doing. And for that, I would have hated you.
If you let a star fall there has to be a wish. You have to grant a wish. Where is it? Where is my wish? I am still waiting. Don’t make me hate you any more than I already do.
The stars are the ones that deserve to be hated. Because when those scissors fell from the child’s hand they could have said something. That it wasn’t the child’s fault, that it was only a mistake. There was more than enough time to soothe the child. But the stars kept quiet and they deserve what they got. To have been scattered and my hate.
I hate you for turning a chain into confetti. For turning the stars into garbage, into something that no one has bothered to sweep from the universe. For convincing me that any wish I make will only make me happy a few seconds. I hate you.