There we sat with the breeze caressing our cheeks.
"Look at the stars," he said.
We looked up, silently capturing the sight.
Millions of them. Twinkled and shined.
"All those were created by God," his mum replied.
And the souls praised and the praises were soothing.
That moment would not had happened if the pier was as bright as day -- well-lit on all sides, and it had a solid built roof and the whispers of our hearts were erased by the blaring music from the blasting stereos from resorts.
“When it is darkest, men see the stars.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson