The stars were so simple when she was a kid, a smattering of glowing dust circling the Earth. She did not then know that each was a sun, most considerably more massive than the daylight one she knew.

I wanted to author her story before she had the chance to live it all. I expected she kept her history from those who could not charm it out of her beneath bed sheets or starry skies.

On an appropriated quilt on the lawn gazing into the infinite, I wanted to say something profound but could not shape any observation that didn’t ring trite. These moments are given to silence or jokes to fend off the minuteness one feels if one understands the slightest thing about astronomical distances.

Adolescence impelled her eyes to stay at an even keel, to deal with the ground before flickering to the heavens. Night became not dotted with fairy clouds of celestial brilliance, but simply the time when the sun was out of sight.