When this star was born, The Sun, a cold ball of dust, Tiny Angels of Time sprinkled it with love, and bestowed upon it a time to live, From here to there, and asked it to live as it willed. But the Sun was confused, Knowing that it was immense, and filled a great space of life, It woundered why it must end, and die. So it called out, to those Angels who loved it, Begging for an infinite life, and asked why it could not be. In Their unified voice, that sparkled like diamond drops, They said, "There are restrictions" and They left the Sun again, leaving the Sun cold, a lonely ball hanging from the strongest string. The Sun sat in contemplation, Gnawing on the idea of restriction but not understanding at all. So once again it called out, It's every thought consumed. "Angels of Time who have created me, I ask again, why must Time cut off my life?" And once again, The Angels with golden voices, said in their collective tones, "There are restrictions." And the Sun boiled in fustrated anger, Heat bubbling from its core, great explosion of its boiling soul erupted on the surface, creating and orange sea, making it too hot for the Angels to return. Even now, The Sun burns in our sky, It's anger burns our skin, yet it keeps us alive, And it will live and live, but Time has it's restrictions, and soon enough the Sun will end, and die, and the Angels of Time will move on, to create another starlit sky.Birth sign: Pisces
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