I look at you, and I avert my eyes.
I look at the sky, pretty beyond description and far beyond reach.
If only I were a star, and I could part of the sky. I would be her partner, burning to add brightness to her nights so that she may never be lonely.
It’s unfortunate that I wasn’t a star.
But it isn’t unfair. And I know that anyone who looked at the sky, wished to be her star. The sky is one, and the gazers are many.
And maybe everything I say, and everything I could say, is repetitive and unnecessary.
I said this before, but let me say more of what is repetitive and unnecessary:
I wish that I was never born, that I never saw the sky, and that I never sat down gazing at her helplessly, repetitively, and unnecessarily.
When she rained, I cried hoping she couldn’t tell my tears from her raindrops. And when she stopped, I looked to the ground wishing to be devoured instantly.