I smile. Her face, a celestial body itself, never lied in any hollow corner of the night sky. No. Not in Orion. Not in Ursa Major. Not in Cassiopeia. Not in any dot on the moon. Not in any wrinkle of spacetime.
I still see her though. And I see her smiling, a tad more serene than I am.
I wait for her answer on the phone, as I slump against the cold asphalt road outside. It's past midnight. It's the safest place I know at times like these.
"You still there?"
I wait. I hear a sigh on the other line.
["Always."]
I sigh.
["My mom would love them though."]
"Hmm?"
["The stars."]
"Ahhh . . . "
["You don't know her though. I understand."]
"I hardly even know you yourself."
She chuckles. ["Am I that easy to forget?"]
I chuckle.
["You know my favorite color though."]
"Probably."
["You're probably wearing it right now even."]
"I . . . "
I peer down at my shirt. Olive green.
"Maybe I am."
She chuckles. So do I.
Silence, if I were to ignore the chirping of the crickets. The sound of the city is too muffled to be distinct, yet lucid enough to know that the world is still wide awake now.
["Weirdly, I don't know yours."]
"Hmm?"
["Your favorite color."]
"Oh."
I think.
"Blue."
["Blue?"]
"Yeah."
She chuckles. ["Like . . . you just thought of that right now?"]
I chuckle. "Actually, I don't have one. I don't have a favorite color."
["Oh."]
I sigh.
["You're missing a lot, y'know. Like . . . a real lot."]
"What?"
She sighs. ["My mom would prolly find you boring. She loved pink by the way."]
"Pink . . . "
["Yeah . . . "]
"I think pink's pretty."
["You lied."]
I grimace.
["I could tell."]
"Yeah, sure."
["And I know you wouldn't care to lie again. Would you?"]
"No. I mean—yes. I mean . . . "
I don't utter another word.
One more glimpse of the heavens, and I close my eyes.
["I wouldn't mind."]
I raise my brows. "Hmm?"
["Hearing you be honest with me."]
I smile. "I am honest."
["You know that's not true."]
I don't answer.
["Tell me. When was the last time you ever loved a color? Or anything even?"]
"Is that a genuine question?"
She doesn't answer. And so I think.
I slowly open my eyes.
I think of the first thing that crosses my mind.
Mom . . .
I think of that one birthday of mine when she gave me a cool purple sweater. It never looked good on me. But weirdly, it felt otherwise. So much.
Suddenly, I stop reminiscing. I close my eyes again and take a deep breath.
"I don't think I've ever loved anything enough at all."
["Hmm?"]
I sigh.
"Mom never knew . . . that I loved that sweater she gave me one time."
["And?"]
I slowly shake my head. "It was purple . . . It was pretty. And like everything else I failed to treasure . . . it, too, outgrew me."
["I see . . . "]
I open my eyes. Suddenly, the air feels cooler on my sense of sight. The stars, meanwhile, appear blurrier than how they should be, like scattered strokes of light.
["To answer your question a while ago . . . yeah. I do love the stars."]
"Yeah?"
It's as if I see her nod her head.
["I don't think I've ever loved anything all by myself though. Everything I've loved . . . I've never loved alone."]
I slowly nod, and I hope she thinks of that, too.
["You know why I love the stars?"]
Beat. But I don't answer.
She chuckles. All is silent until I hear a sniffle on the line.
"You okay?"
. . .
["I miss you."]
. . .
["It's funny, y'know? Every day . . . it only feels like I've lost yet another part of you."]
. . .
["You still there?"]
Funny. I feel the same way about myself. I've lost so much of myself, that with this much space in my soul, there's no doubt that the whole universe could even fit in me.
And there she is, being the universe.
"Always . . . " I mumble.
Always . . . have you completed me.
But I doubt she'd ever be a whole again with this much of her in me.
Suddenly, a beam of light blinds the air in between me and the heavens. Something comes rushing toward me a few seconds away.
["Hello?! Answer me!"]
I lug one final chunk of oxygen into my trembling lungs before the stars completely dwindle into the brilliant oblivion.
"You . . . make me happ—"
