remember?

When I stepped outside I could see only a bit of the moon. The season is such that only a sliver of it reflects the light. I saw the orange thumb-nail peaking out, contrasted among the rest of the sky. And I looked for the stars but could find any.

It was like that night when my world seemed to be slipping away and you made me look at the stars. Standing on the sidewalk in my pajamas, my socks wet from the pavement, struggling to lift my head enough. And you shook me straight and took my face in your hands and tilted my eyes up.

Above me, I could see the stars burn. I stood transfixed, my head still grounded, refusing to let myself drift from that painful place. And so you led me upstairs and sat me down. And there in your living room we faced each other, cross-legged on the carpet, our knees hardly touching. And you sang me songs. Quietly at first, humming along with chords only to sing a chorus every now and then, softly, forcing me into a place of peace.

And I thought of those stars. Cast up into the heavens with so much care. Held there with so much intention. And I couldn’t help but feel lost among them. I wanted so much to be caught up in them. There was so much hope in that thought, that the stars were suspended above me with so much beauty and grace.

But tonight I couldn’t find any stars. It was too cloudy. There was too much polluting the sky. The only light was that little bit of moon, struggling to make its presence known.