I've been thinking a lot about the stars and the sky, and how the constellations spell out our names on the lonely nights when everyone is asleep but our minds are awake wandering, just as they always have.

I keep promising myself that there must be something more than screaming at the constellations hoping I might get a response from you.

I've followed the light to the places where our footprints are visible as if the cement had been wet when we passed through and I fear that these stars won't live to tell our story
Stars are dead long before you see them and they burn furiously regardless of my protests.
These stars will vanish  much like you did but we're under the same sky tonight.