Blooming under a cold moon, we are like fireworks. . . Rising, shining, and finally scattering and fading. So until that moment comes when we vanish like fireworks. . . Lets us sparkle brightly, Always.
When one seeks assurance, there's none from those who respond, Now, don't you worry about a thing. If you weren't worried, you wouldn't have asked. If you are concerned, it's nice to know that those you query are, too. I'll take a worrier any day over a platitudinous reassurer.