/:/F a l l e n S t a r s/:/ (Stare's Charries)

Whoa, I hear the quiet now
Of paper airplanes falling down
Whoa, the branches of every tree
Bend like a cathedral over me

All stories start with once upon a time. An ancient line whispered in nurseries and the bedrooms of young children, it is written in almost every fairytale, whether it came from a pencil, an ink quill, or a typewriter. Those four words are eternal, going far back in time to when they were read by candlelight in towers made of stone. It is the beginning to a fantastic tale of romance, flawless characters, excitement, beauty, capture, and escape. It leads readers into incredible dreamlands, filling them with sunlight and stardust as their eyes are opened to see places more magical than they ever could have imagined. All stories start with once upon a time... except ours. Because our stories aren't fairytales. Our stories aren't beautiful. Our stories aren't wonderous or warm, and we certainly aren't flawless characters going on big adventures. We're just kids trying to survive in the horrible lives we have been given. Our stories are a cold, icy reality. Once upon a time is a foreign concept to us.

Down where the river bends everyone's waiting
But that's not the reason I make these tracks in the snow
There's a box in my hands as I go
Wrapped in scarlet and gold
For you

Our stories are all different. Some of us live lives of ease, while others struggle for every meal. Some of us have friends and a family, and some of us do not. Some of us have obsessions, and some of us are insane. Some of us are afraid of the dark and monsters under our bed, and others have learned what true fear is. Some of us are lost, and some of us are found. Some of us have loved, and others have hated. Others still have felt nothing at all. Some of us live in mansions, and others live in shacks or nowhere at all. Some of us have hard childhoods, and others look back on those years fondly. Some of us are dreamers, and some of us prefer to take action. Some of us are protective, and some of us are selfish. Most of us are alive. Some of us are not, not really.

Whoa, there's a choir up on the wind
Singing old familiar hymns
And my ears, they're playing tricks on me
I can almost hear harmony

We all have done something we truly regret. We all have experienced true terror in our lives. We all have a passion toward something. We all had families, once. We have all shed tears, though some of us won't admit it. We all know the meaning of pain. We all had dreams at one point or another. We have all known heartbreak. We're all alone, in some way or another. We are all wishing for a better life. We've all seen the harsh winter, the wet spring, the shining summer, and the crisp autumn. We've all stood atop mountains and felt the bottom of the abyss. We've all lost someone in one way or another. We've all tasted victory, though only some of us have actually felt it in our hands. We've all thought ourselves grand and mighty and strong. We've all fallen.

We're still falling.

Down where the river bends, that's where you're waiting
You are the reason I'm making these tracks in the snow
There's a box in my hands as I go
Wrapped in scarlet and gold
For you

Listen for the sound of broken heartbeats and watch for lost footsteps - follow them, and you'll find us. We have been beaten by the waves of time and fortune, twisted and molded into what we are today. And let us tell you, what we are is not always as pretty as it may seem. We're calling out, trying to be heard, but our voices are drowning in something, everything, nothing. We're trying to fight, but we are weak, and our efforts are in vain. We remember a time when we thought ourselves great, and so powerful. When we shone with the purest, most beautiful light, little beacons in the darkness, giving hope to those around us, if only for a little while. That was before, though. Before the blackness swallowed us whole and then dropped us, so that we were falling until we hit the ground hard. And here we lay, forgotten, our light hidden from all but a select few. So go on, try to find us.

Try to find us fallen stars.

Down where the river bends nobody's waiting
But there's still a reason for making these tracks in the snow
Down at the end of the road, I'll clear a place in the snow
Leave this box wrapped in scarlet and gold
For you

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