"I don't believe in that crap," he laughs, rolling onto his side to face me and propping himself up on an elbow. "You don't believe in constellations?" I ask, keeping my eyes fixated on the black sky above. "Yeah. The stars are essentially billions of years away, and we assign shapes to them for no reason." A chill races up my spine as wind moves the grass against my bare legs and arms. "I think it's beautiful. We're trying to make sense of something. We try to find answers, knowing damn well that there aren't any. We make up unfathomable stories and backgrounds because we want something to believe in. If everything is going wrong, we look up at the stars and find the meaning to our lives. Just because they're miles and miles away doesn't mean they can't be impactful. That's why I love you, isn't it? You're so far away, but I still love you. When I feel lonely, I come look out at the stars and remind myself that we are forged from stardust. We are part of those stars, those constellations, and therefore those stories. We are looking to believe in ourselves and sometimes we just have to be reminded of that."
