Stars

Up close, they are crystal fire: thundering heat barely held in one place, white flames tethered together and sewn into a sphere of light. Or so I tell myself as I watch silver needle pricks spill across the surface of a black, trembling wave.     

Through my father's telescope I find them cold. Blocks of ice caught in the tide of distant, rugged, eddies of space. They are fractured and broken, splintering with frost, and I think of winter - cruel blades hanging from our porch, brought together into frozen bouquets.    

With my lover beside me they were silver roses. Lillies, daisies, blessed petals cast above us and tossed like confetti. They would throb and swell, blooming in shadow and whispering together, bidding us to lie back and be enthralled.     

But here is where I know them best. Salt shaken loose from the ocean and spilled on the black tablecloth above. Mute, listless flickers, countless as the sand grains under my hands. As I draw my knees up and sigh, they are my silent witnesses. Ancestors, lighting candles at their windows for me. Angels paused mid-step to hear my sullen cry.

They are just stars. No magic. No fairy dust. Rocks and stones, too far to reach - forever lost to me.     

Just like you.