i sit intoxicated on the noon of the dark, staring up at the night sky expanse mapped out on my ceiling. i cry, wishing and begging to ride a shooting star, knowing the distance makes the dream too impossible to dare. i connect the constellations with the imaginary spiderweb that my mind weaves, and i plead for a strand to fall to the earth and pluck me up and out of my slumber and fling me among the planets. i strain to reach for the space between, knowing my arms' length is nothing but a speck of the lightyears that stretch between us. the distance mocks my feeble reach, and i am left drunk on the midnight hour, alone in the dark with the stars in my head.
