I slept on the roof last night so I could see the stars. It makes me feel less lonely, looking up at all that light. It makes me think, “Hey, if there’s all this light watching over us, life can’t be too bad.” Seeing the stars makes me feel safe.

It’s been months, though. I haven’t seen him in a long time. I pretend, on those nights when I’m watching the stars, that he’s watching them, too. We used to watch the stars together, you know. Every night. Maybe he’s still watching, like I am. Maybe he remembers, too. It’s almost like we’re together again.

This old guy at a museum once told me that stars are so far away, it can take hundreds of years for their light to reach us. So when we stare up at them, we’re actually looking into the past. I guess that’s what I’m doing. Looking into the past, trying to remember those days when he was still with me. When we danced to the music of the wind and followed in step with the rustling grass. When we looked up into the stars and believed time was endless, that we had forever. And who’s to say we didn’t? We were seeing centuries into the past, just by looking up. Time was never-ending. How many years could we see, just by watching the sky? Somehow, it added to forever.

Then, time ended. And I haven’t seen him in a long, long time.

I slept on the roof last night.