I see you.
At night. When it's really dark, and it isn't cloudy. Arizona has the most beautiful skies in all of the USA. But not because of all the stars, or clouds, or the dark purple color.
It's because you're in the sky, darling.
And I look up, I stare, and I remember.
I remember how we met. I remember our first date. I remember our first kiss. I remember the day you told me.
The day you told me you were going to going up to the sky soon. I laughed and asked you what you meant. You just smiled and said, "You'll see."
And I did see. I do see. I'll see you.
And before, every night, I would cry myself to sleep. I would think of your face, and how I couldn't kiss it anymore. I would think of your smile, and how I wouldn't see it anymore. I'd think of your arms, and how you wouldn't hold me anymore. And I'd cry. Because they were all gone. All that was left was the memories.
I was lost. You'd left me. Why did you leave me?
But then, I realized, you weren't gone. You said you were going up in the sky. And there you were. Lighting it up with all the other beautiful souls. And for the first time after your departure, I smiled.
I smiled, remembering when you dropped your ice cream on me. I smiled, remembering when we went hiking and you tripped on a twig. I smiled, when I remember how you proposed to me with a plastic ring from our favorite dollar store.
I smiled. And I smile now, remembering every day again.
"Mommy," a little girl rushed out from the house.
"Are you talking to the boy in the stars, again, Mommy?"
"Yes, sweetheart," I kissed her forehead, "yes, I am."
