You don't look up at the stars anymore. Instead of tilting your chin back and gazing up at the night sky, you avert your eyes. They are a painful reminder of his front yard, delaying the inevitable goodbyes as your attention turned heavenward. He stood with one arm around your waist, using the other to point out the constellations: Orion, the Seven Sisters, the Little Dipper. He punctuated his words with stolen kisses as the stars twinkled, knowingly. The galaxies were limitless and, at that time, so were the possibilities.

Your last goodbye was quite different, as the clouds completely obscured the view. But even if they hadn't, the sparkling celestial bodies would still have seemed absent to eyes blinded by tears.

Although the stars are visible once more, you do not spare them a passing glance. They are dangerous in their optimism, in their wordless promises. It is better not to dream, better to stay grounded, better to keep your eyes and feet resting firmly on the earth below. The heavens were not meant for you, wounded soul.