The stars were blurry when I looked at them without my glasses. I couldn’t see them but I knew they were there. The stars lit up the sky and gave direction. They were bright and dim and full of color and black holes. I looked at birth, brilliance, death, and memories.
Summer stars and winter stars were different, but the sky was consistent. Patience revealed the transition, like a very long blink. The sky was changing above us, but we were the ones moving, lying still and moving, lying under the stars, lying about the constellations to sound smart. We didn’t all see the sky the same way. A shooting star to one person is the death of another.
We made wishes and talked about the past while we watched it happen. There were dead stars, and living planets, moving meteorites and the earth turning beneath us. It was the last time we saw it all as it were.
It was sad and happy and unique and exciting, and it was ours. It was a perfect silence that lasted forever.