To that kid who wanted to be an astronaut:

Have you ever wondered who asked her permission?

Who took the sky's desires into account?

We look at her stars and we take comfort in her sun and moon and clouds.

Did we cry when she lost her virginity?

Did we ask her opinion before we started to take her over, satellite by satellite?

Or did we tell her that she was asking for it by dressing so provocatively in her twinkling stars?

Ask the sky about her support group with the rain forests and the ozone layer.

Ask her about her daily therapy sessions with the sun and ask her about the clouds that pass over her face when she cries.

Ask the sky who she wanted to be when she grew up.

She would say that she wanted to be love.

She wanted to be the constellations that lovers look for to find comfort despite distance.

She wanted to be the light shining in the windows of the house where the new baby sleeps, prying tears out of the mother's eyes when she looks at the young mirror of her own face.

She wanted to be Polaris, leading scores of wanderers to hope.

She wanted to be beautiful and mysterious and enrapturing.

She never wanted to be the moon reflected in the tears of a girl like her.

She never wanted to be the darkness where our fear always hides.

She never wanted to be the sharp contrast between heaven and hell.

We did this to her.

The Space Race made her feel wanted until she felt walked on.

We had to conquer the beautiful and the untainted, but she never needed us to take over.

Leave her secrets secret.

Leave her alone so that we don't ruin her like we ruin rock formations with our spray paint, trying to leave our mark.
Our attempts at making things our own always end in destruction.

We'll tear her apart until there's little left of her and until we can bottle her precious stars because we think that beauty should come in a color, a scent, a powder.

Tell her she's respected, because she's tired of being seen and not heard.

Tell her you appreciate her, because you and your love can share her light along with your hearts.

Tell her she's loved, because she'd rather be loved than screwed and she usually gets the latter.
Tell her your fears, because no one understands them better than her.

Love,

--Alis