The stars only show themselves in person.
I tried to take a picture of the stars tonight. The stars don't like to be captured. As hard as I tried and as far as I wandered trying to get something good, I just couldn't get evidence that the stars in west Texas are prettier than they are anywhere else in the world; you'll just have to take my word for it. So I accepted my failure, found a soft spot of grass and made myself comfortable. I let the earth work out the knots that had developed throughout the day and I took a mental note of every glimmering light so far away. The grass was cool and my shoulders began to lose their tenseness. There's nothing more peaceful than listening to horses munch hay only a couple of feet away.
And suddenly I realized that I've seen these stars before. The same stars. They were just as bright, they were just as special. I was ten years old and I was sporting my favorite overalls; they were too short for my long disproportionate legs and the knees were tattered and green from my adventures. I had a jar of fireflies beside my head and I was proud of them; I watched each one light up in turn from my perch on that low oak limb. The stars did the same thing. I might not have realized the depth of what I was seeing then but I was in awe of the fiery nightlights I had, in my jar and over my head.
Those same stars visited me again when I was seventeen. I didn't think twice about their presence, they were always there anyway, until I had finished my first beer and suddenly they were breathtaking. Me and a Coors Lights and a handful of my closest friends piled onto dilapidated patio furniture at the first house I called my own. We had too much fun back then. We laughed too loud. We drank too much. We lived like we wouldn't get another chance in the morning. Those stars shared with me what it felt like to be in control. I had life figured out and nobody could stop me.
But it was at twenty-one when those stars reminded me that I could be wrong, I lacked control. I didn't know what my next move was. It was on the tailgate of a white Dodge pickup, off the beaten path, on an Oklahoma red dirt road that I knew I couldn't trust myself. Those stars silently watched the little girl turn into a woman; they didn't smirk, they didn't chide, they didn't hold a grudge.
Tonight the stars showed me that the most beautiful things in the world can hold the happiest of moments, the confused pride we often boast of and the skeletons we elude every waking moment. Tonight the stars shared with me that our most intimate of moments are never farther away than the next sunset. You can store your stars away tonight but tomorrow they will resume their rightful position over your head; too close to forget, just far enough away to keep a secret.
And suddenly I realized that I've seen these stars before. The same stars. They were just as bright, they were just as special. I was ten years old and I was sporting my favorite overalls; they were too short for my long disproportionate legs and the knees were tattered and green from my adventures. I had a jar of fireflies beside my head and I was proud of them; I watched each one light up in turn from my perch on that low oak limb. The stars did the same thing. I might not have realized the depth of what I was seeing then but I was in awe of the fiery nightlights I had, in my jar and over my head.
Those same stars visited me again when I was seventeen. I didn't think twice about their presence, they were always there anyway, until I had finished my first beer and suddenly they were breathtaking. Me and a Coors Lights and a handful of my closest friends piled onto dilapidated patio furniture at the first house I called my own. We had too much fun back then. We laughed too loud. We drank too much. We lived like we wouldn't get another chance in the morning. Those stars shared with me what it felt like to be in control. I had life figured out and nobody could stop me.
But it was at twenty-one when those stars reminded me that I could be wrong, I lacked control. I didn't know what my next move was. It was on the tailgate of a white Dodge pickup, off the beaten path, on an Oklahoma red dirt road that I knew I couldn't trust myself. Those stars silently watched the little girl turn into a woman; they didn't smirk, they didn't chide, they didn't hold a grudge.
Tonight the stars showed me that the most beautiful things in the world can hold the happiest of moments, the confused pride we often boast of and the skeletons we elude every waking moment. Tonight the stars shared with me that our most intimate of moments are never farther away than the next sunset. You can store your stars away tonight but tomorrow they will resume their rightful position over your head; too close to forget, just far enough away to keep a secret.
Love this about the stars. You should think about writing short stories. This is very good.
ReplyDeleteThank you for the compliment. I would eventually like to compile a book of short stories. I've created this blog as a type of motivation for me to improve my writing.
DeleteBrittani you are still as amazing now as you were at 10. I only wish we were closer to be able to share more. Love you G-Pat
ReplyDelete