When he dropped in one knee, she immediately threw her arms around him. There wasn’t a smile or a tear, just a pair of lazy arms clutching his shoulders. Automatic. He grinned, pleased enough. Her plan of her perfect proposal had him recite her favorite poem that talked about abandoned roses, and he had complied by learning the last couple of lines earlier that morning. But it wasn’t what she had wanted exactly, either.
She would have wanted him to talk about how by the time they had hit the ground most of them had given up. After shining so brightly, and had succumbed and burnt out, the sky fired them down to welcome new constellations. His ideal proposal would have consisted on reminding her that they didn’t burn out for the moon or the skies, that opaque stars also make dreams come true, and their spikes still make fingertips bleed when clutched tightly.
They burned because they wanted to see their beauty when glimpsing at their reflection over the sea.
So they would marry, even if none of them felt able to face a wedding where their love wouldn’t shine in silver like it used to.