Glimpses of Stardust

On Broadway, the lights go off. Thousands of bright, golden beams originating from tall lampposts flicker and die. It's nighttime. The edge of the day, where one section of earth breaks and cracks and splits apart but remains partially attached to the next. It's a never-ending cycle. But each crack separates a hundred decisions, memories, pieces of daylight and moonlight.

It's nighttime. At the top of a large mound of earth, I sit on the cool, hard, rocky surface, arms wrapped around my knees, head tilted toward the sky. Above me, moon and starlight hover.

I close my eyes and breath out. Faint, cool wind flows around me like waves. I open them again and carefully lean back, stretching my arms out. I lie on my back on the surface of my fantasy and stare at the dark night above me. I see stardust.

Smiling, I remember the only thing that could make this night better. Someone like him lying next to me.

A thousand bright, golden lights flicker above me in the sky while I wait.