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my lifelong best friend, is gone? Everyone says time heals all wounds, but how long? Or is my wound an empty hole incapable of mending?
He gazes at me like I’m the stars when all I’ve ever felt before was the darkness that encircles them.
For once, something about shooting stars feels magical, but why? I can’t figure it out. Maybe it’s the reality of them—the mystery. Or the way everything else becomes so insignificant. The universe is beyond anyone’s conception.
“Would you like it if I told you that us being here was written in the stars?” he asks. “Hmm, yes. I would like to believe in something.” “You and me, we’re written in the stars, love.”
I’m happy for the first time in a long time because of him, and I know I’m wholly and utterly screwed.
“I believe there has to be something…life outside of Earth itself. Look at the sky and all the stars and tell me we’re the only ones here. It’s impossible,”
“Look up and tell me you don’t feel a greater sense of power, like nothing else matters. Like everything that we’ve been taught to believe in doesn’t exist when you’re looking at the never-ending constellations. Your pain and everything you feel turns into numbness, and you begin to question everything,”
