Stargazing

People are like stars. I’m an astronomer.

Why do I spend hours and hours trying to map out the stars if they keep changing?

Stars always seem to fade away, and their light becomes dim. The stars I once spent my time admiring at night disappear from my sky. Something that once mattered to me fades slowly until it is gone completely. I erase them from my map, hoping it will mask the grief of the memories we once shared.

But the sky changes, and new stars appear for me to admire.

I could never move on from the star I loved most. I wonder what made it go away. Did I not admire it enough? Or was my love slowly smothering it until it decided to escape?

Then the star returns.

The star of my joy and pain shines again. I quickly begin to redraw it on my map, but my hand hesitates. What if the star disappears again? I don’t want to give it another place on my page knowing I may have to erase it.

The star returns carrying the explanations I wished for when the sky was empty. It tells me that I was not the reason it left. It says it is sorry and asks for a place on my map again.

The old memories flood back, and my pen begins to move across the page.

I keep holding on to a promise that was already broken. I convince myself that everything is okay now, that the star will never leave again. I wasn’t expecting perfect light, but I didn’t think I would have to survive another eclipse.

The star begins to fade again, and this time it pulls other stars down with it. The pain multiplies over time.

I erase the marks of its memory from my map so hard that I rip the page.

I gave pieces of my heart to this star so many times that it left cracks across the sky I had spent years drawing.

The sky will always change. Stars will fade, return, and disappear again. The lesson was never to stop mapping the sky. It was learning that not every star belongs at the center of it.