The shooting star of a visually impaired

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I remember the summers of my childhood. They are blurry memories, almost a life not mine.
I remember some images, some sporadic scenes, perhaps the face of a little girl who was beginning to make me feel love pulsating in my heart and  my sex.
They were summer at the sea, maybe at a camping site.
They were dark beaches, maybe a fire far away so as not to disturb the dark.
I was already this new man when guitars were playing.
As a child there were no songs.
Only the music of some piano bar on the waterfront. The high volume of grown up kids, who maybe did not believe in the stars.
I believed in them.
I was waiting for the night of St. Lawrence with the same craving I expected Santa Claus, whom I did not believe anymore.
I waited until midnight. Because I knew they would fall.

It was in their fall that I had to believe.
At that bright tale I could attach a wish.
I do not remember how many I saw, not even what I wished. Maybe something has really come true.
The wishes of the stars last only one night, maybe not even.
They only last for the time of that light.
Now that I have retinitis pigmented  I can not see the stars.
I do not see them in the sky, I can not see them falling.
I would like to be able to express some wishes, I would like someone to tell me that it is worth even if they see them for you.
This time I invent the story.
I invent it for all those who stare their eyes to the sky and do not see anything but night.
Nights without stars, no milky ways, no planets.
Nights are perhaps less expanded, less enormous.
We can only imagine the sky as we see it inside of us. In memories of childhood, in descriptions of others.
There is nothing that can replace the immensity of the sky, which without stars has no measure. We do not see how big the universe can be, we do not see the light years separating us from those suns.
Are we incapable of looking so far away?
The stars are the only measure of infinity, they are the unexpressed view, they are the dream of other worlds, of other lives.
I wish to see its fall, and to wish that a better Earth rotates around that sun.
I would like to wish that there is another me on Earth2, Earth3 or EarthX.
I wish him to see my sun falling down and wishing, perhaps, to meet me.
I would like him to tell me how everything really is, I wish he could see, he could hear.
I would listen each detail, it would be the only one who could make me dream.
And you, on this Earth, you can see the stars, find one, look, wait.
Wait all night, wait for  it to fall.
And when it happens, coz it will, take a wish among the many and wish it. Wish it so strongly to shake the sky.
I’m not sad because I can not do it.
I’m sad because you will not wait.
We who have retinitis pigmentosa do not see the falling stars.
We who are visually impaired would just want to have the right to steal the time of that “I’ve seen it!” to put our wish, sure no one will remember to do it, for it is already time to wait for the next star.
It will not be the one you look at that will fall.
Any of the thousands of sky will fall.
You will see it in your vast field of vision for a night as big as a planetarium.
You do not need to wish anything for me.
You just have make a star fall for me.

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