God, I miss the stars.

She’s good at reassuring, at holding hands and being that shoulder and giving you a smile when you can’t find one. A little nudge and a wink so you’ll forget temporarily that things aren’t okay somewhere else. Her hands will pet your hair and rub your back and her voice will whisper into your ear that it’s okay that it’s not okay right now, but it will be soon enough. I promise.

Legs dangle from the edge of the building on the roof and her eyes stare out into the sky. They’ll drift down onto the streets below and sometimes the cars will make her dizzy and all of the colors make her sick. She’ll rock back and forth as if tempting fate, as if to see if today’s the day.

She’ll tell herself that it’s okay that she’s not okay because she’ll be okay again. Over and over and over she repeats this until, when was she last okay? When did she last smile into her pillow as she drifted to sleep? And she can’t remember and it’s hard to tell those words to someone else when she’s losing faith in them herself.

Her arms close around her and her eyes shut as tightly as they can. No matter how hard to squeezes herself she can’t manage to put herself back together. It won’t stick and she’s not getting better and she would swear the sky’s darker. She would swear the color of her eyes is dulling and there are no stars to look at.

So she sits a little closer to the edge. Let’s her legs hang just a little further down. Closes her eyes and tries to breathe.

Where are all the stars?


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