Shooting star

Just when I thought I could catch that shooting star, it disappeared before my eyes could blink. It was half-shut, almost at the tip of closing and completing the process of whispering a wish, but it vanished as if it was in a hurry, or it wasn’t keen on staying. It just passed by, like every view on a moving train or bus. It was a billboard caught by my vision until it moved on to another one, because my head can only twist around in little ways. It couldn’t see everything about you that wasn’t permanent because it didn’t want you to change or disappear out of my sight before me so my head doesn’t have to look over its shoulder or perk up in a crowd. I wanted you here, eye to eye, as if it was that star shot in the sky for some reason and I quickly reached for a remote to pause everything for you to stay there. Here.
 
But you were probably meant to settle your dust in another planet’s view. The world kept turning in a cycle of left or right and you were just a sick photo bomber in that peaceful sky, timing it right when I was looking up for something. And I knew I had to press play because you weren’t meant to hang over my head or my heart, but still, I gripped it tight to my chest, hoping it’ll be electrocuted with this heart’s beating thunders but no, the battery to make you stay was something someone else will provide. It was in someone else’s hand to hold. It was someone else’s heart to give the shocks you needed and I told you that I’d lose you and you said you wouldn’t but the world kept turning like how your words rippled on the ocean only to find itself sinking into the deep, dark parts where all those words will rot. And that shooting star must be on its way somewhere, anywhere but here. It just passed by but never completely fell to meet me when for a second I thought it will make my wish come true. But it wasn’t there to give anything but a false spark of hope. An unwanted feeling of idiocy for wishing on something impermanent. It must be off to land in someone else’s lap and shower glitters of flowery, sugar-coated words on someone else’s cheeks or eyelashes and even if I knew then, I didn’t want to press play, play, play, that button rang in my head, but nothing stopped the button from being automatically pressed for you were always only a fleeting moment, and now you are no longer a part of my sky. My head, which never, ever looked too far, strained at all angles so I can catch even a slight bit of your existence. But all I’m left with is a pathetic wish I still held onto the tip of my tongue so when you come back, maybe you’ll decide to stay. Because that’s my wish. You were my wish, you see.
But I can’t fast forward this. And I don’t want to press rewind, because I don’t want to lose what you left me with. But I knew that wouldn’t happen. So I let the remote drop and fall from my grip, let everything drag as the play button resumes. Because what’s the use. Why bother.