I.
73 years and I have never had the desire to leave.
The high-rise buildings tower above me and the streets look worn and cracked.
Cars line up behind yet more cars, releasing endless exhaust that
tints the bright blue sky.
People walk in and out of different stores,
Colorful bags from Gucci and Saks Fifth Ave. in hand,
Rushing off to meet someone for an early dinner downtown.
The sun sets, replaced by an array of bright blinking lights.
Darkness doesn't exist here.
This is the city.
The alluring, glorious city.

II.
Despite all of it's captivation, there is one thing that keeps the city from being perfect:
The bright lights scare the stars away at night.
Stars I used to watch with my father as a child.
The stars that my mother used to paint with her turpentine-stained hands and acrylic paints.
The stars I used to find my way home as an eagle scout.
With all the colorful city lights, the stars disappear.
I tend to miss my stars.

III.
Every night, when the city morphs into a neon Elysium,
I walk downtown to the old park, where the only bench is.
Sticky from the tree sap that drips off the old oak tree, I lay out my handkerchief to protect my pants.
I sit at the bench and watch the sky, hoping, waiting, wishing, for even just a small glimpse of the stars.
Every once and a while, the dense clouds open up a sliver and allow me a glance at the stars I've missed so much.
Every night, I come and sit alone.
But  not tonight.
Tonight, a women appears and sits next to me, smoothing her floral skirts as she does so.
She says, Don't you just love the stars? So beautiful but they always seem to be disappearing.

IV.
Her name was Margot, Silent “T”, she always said.
She stole my breath and ran with it, leaving me chasing after her.
We talked for hours that night (mostly about the stars)
We took our time walking home, smiling as the shoppers and business men walked passed us beneath the bright blinking lights.
She kissed my cheek, leaving a red, Margot-sized mark.
From then on, I no longer sat alone on that bench, I sat with Margot.
Margot as my friend

Margot as my girlfriend

  Margot as my wife

We sat together and looked for the ever evading stars.
We gave them names and made up stories for the different constellations.
Margot loved our star stories.

V.
Not much longer after that, Margot joined the stars, leaving me here, on this park bench, alone.
Now, instead of the stars, I look for Margot.
I look for my Margot constellation.
I know she's up there, parting the clouds to look down on me too.