Every third day of the third week in July for the last six years
I would crawl out onto the hot, black shingled roof of our white and gray two story shuttered house
and I would try to count the stars in the southern sky

The course grains of each shingle would burn deep gouges into my knees and hands as if each shingle was punishing me for sitting on them.

But I hadn't a care in the world

For I had a reason and a purpose to be there
You see, that third day was my day, that third week was my week..

It was all mine...the day I would lose myself into the universe

As I nestled into my favorite spot, I leaned against the hard wood window frame, not caring for a second how I long i sat there. At that pristine moment, I just began to count the stars

Each single star I counted, whether it be faded as the night or bright as the day,  was surrounded by complete darkness. A pitch black of nothing.
Those were the lonely stars I saw and I breathed once again.

Each single star i counted, was all alone and afraid in the vast deepness of space with nothing to embrace them except for my eyes and my casual memories and I breathed once again.

This is my healing place. My escape from the life threatening complexities that invaded my inner being. I witnessed the thousands of morsels of light in the southern sky as if they were tiny demons millions of light years away, haunting and watching over me each and every night. For they can no longer touch me or break me apart. They will become the broken.

I have found my place of solace on top of that hot, black shingled roof of our white and gray shuttered house. Many peaceful nights I counted the stars, only to lose to count after I reached one hundred. My eyes would glaze over with an undue purpose of peace and I breathed once again as I started to count the stars all over again.