when you were 11
your science teacher taught you about the stars.
he pointed to the sky
and told you it takes thousands of years
for the light to reach the earth
so the stars you see are probably already gone.
later that night you tried to count the stars
but you ran out of fingers and toes
so at bedtime you went without protest
and dreamed you were a mountain holding hands with the sky.
tonight you blur your eyes and pretend the city lights are stars.
somewhere between coffee and conversations
you let the world turn you inside out
you forgot that the stars have always been there for you
even when they’re breaking.
but you lost sight of them and later when you call
they don’t answer.
your science teacher taught you about the stars.
he pointed to the sky
and told you it takes thousands of years
for the light to reach the earth
so the stars you see are probably already gone.
later that night you tried to count the stars
but you ran out of fingers and toes
so at bedtime you went without protest
and dreamed you were a mountain holding hands with the sky.
tonight you blur your eyes and pretend the city lights are stars.
somewhere between coffee and conversations
you let the world turn you inside out
you forgot that the stars have always been there for you
even when they’re breaking.
but you lost sight of them and later when you call
they don’t answer.
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