The evening breeze was cool against my skin.
(Why is it so damn cold cold coldCOLD-)
I laid down, the grassy earth firm beneath my spine.
(and the cold is bone-deep, chilling my fingers... would they freeze, frost-bitten and icy as they felt? Would they snap off...)
The sky was dark, void of stars, void itself.
(one by one...)
The blinking of an aircraft caught my eye. Not a star, then.
(Have the stars left me too? Like- like-)
I sat up again, drawing my knees to my chest. Lying down felt too- too...
(Too open. Too vulnerable. Weak. You are naive and s-)
It was so very, very cold.
(It is so very, very cold?)
I tilted my head up and- oh-
Stars.
(Maybe they haven't left after all. Maybe-)
(Maybe.)
"Do you ever wonder if the stars are windows to a brighter universe?" I ask, still looking heavenward.
"I think you think too much." came the reply.
I laughed, a hysterical cackle.
(And I hate- Control. I need-)
"Are we not all just marionettes on strings?"
My companion made a noise, neither of assent nor dispute, and I realized she was humming. Melancholy notes filled the silence, melodic, slow, and so very, very...
(Familiar.)
Familiar.
"I know that song."
She chuckled, amused.
(as bitter as coffee.)
"Of course you do."
