Letter to the Stars

Prose Revisited Series #2

I sat on the swings last night. The air cooled off and the metal links brushed chill against my skin, and I thought, and I thought.  I wished you were there. I wished I could ask you like you’d asked me. “Come swing with me.” I wished you could be there to wipe away my tears for me or to tell me to stop being such a baby, that everything’s going to be alright, like always. That was all I’d wanted. And that’s all I couldn’t have.

Instead I raised my gaze to the stars above. Even when we were hundreds of miles apart, we used to look at the stars together, and I’d feel you there with me. I felt connected. I felt you.

On the swings last night I thought, Could this be enough? If I cannot be with you, is it possible for two people to remain connected through the stars, through the celestial heavens? If I knew that you were looking, that you knew what I knew, would we still be connected, you and me, us? If I cannot be with you physically, if I cannot even be your friend, can we—soul mates—be together as souls among the stars for the rest of our lives? I hope so because for now, while my heart aches, I look to the stars for you, and I will continue looking there until the end of my days.

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Love,

Ochwoman

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