Where the stars went

When I was small,

the sky was a storybook—

every page dotted with stars

too many to count,

each one whispering my name.

But now the nights glow

with lights that never sleep.

Streetlamps, signs, windows—

they push the darkness back

until the stars have nowhere left to shine.

I look up anyway,

searching for the constellations

I used to trace with my fingertips.

Maybe they’re still there—

quiet, patient, waiting for us

to remember to turn the lights off

and look for them again.