Stars

I step out the door of the airport, into the heat of the California sun. 
Here is my threshold— transition from illusion to reality. I cross it readily.

Inhaling as deeply as I can, I feel an instantaneous calm surround me,
engulfing me and holding me like a mother with her newborn child. 
In this moment, I am newborn. 
I have been altruistically changed and as I lean against the side of the building, I watch for you.

Your eyes meet mine through the windshield of your car and my breath is stolen by your smile. I head towards you with a determined step, 
grinning like a child just given a piece of candy.
And all I can think of is how young I feel. 
And all I can hope is that you can’t sense it.

We lie in your bed, under the stars that dance along your ceiling like tiny ballerinas. I search for one that shoots across the ceiling, as you have told me there are comets to be found in this world. I ask how often one shoots by, 
and you simply reply that when the time is right, 
I will see what I need to see.

Los Angeles proves to be a true city of angels as you sweep me off my feet and show me around. You’re showing off the sights and all I want is to show you off.
I see stars in your eyes and I feel the glow protruding my soul.

We go to the planetarium, knees touching in a playful manner as the lights dim and the theater fills up with galaxies. We smile knowingly and you whisper that our stars are better. 
Better than anyone else’s. And they’re ours, you promise.
I feel my heart pounding and take note of the little girl jumping rope inside of my chest.
She never came to play before.
My eyes dance sideways and occasionally we lock our gazes. 
My hand grabs for yours and you hold on tight.
We watch the stars. I can feel the shooting inside of me, but where is that comet?

We crawl into bed under those stars for four nights straight. 
They lull you to sleep and your sleep entrances me. I watch each night so that I can make my wish, but there is never a comet, to my great dismay.
There’s so much to say, so much to say. The distance, the age. There’s so much at stake.
I refuse to give up hope.
I want to see a shooting star.

You hold me in your arms and you kiss me softly. You whisper in my ears and the melody of your heart sings to mine. I refuse to close my eyes as I search for that flash across the sky that is your bedroom ceiling. 
You playfully accuse me of loving you.
My heart is no longer in my chest. It creeps slowly up my throat, and the little girl playing jump rope has gone off to bed. 
Silence.
Stillness.

It’s just the stars, you and me. And it has come down to this.

I reach for your face and I gently feel you with my fingertips. My eyes meet yours which are heavy with sleep, but full of emotion. I search them wildly, speaking to you within myself. There are stars in your eyes and I’ve been starstruck from the start. 

“I do love you,” the words escape my lips before I can even plan a way to make it sound special.
I just so happen to break eye contact.
I just so happen to look up.
There just so happens to be a shooting star, crossing your bedroom ceiling, in that very moment.

When the time is right, it will come to you.
And I’m here.