There was a paper star he'd crafted from his birth certificate,
A golden tip where the half moon of the badge remained.
He glued the star on the ceiling of his bedroom,
Watching it glint and darken as he lay in linen blankets.
His wife ignored his strange art,
Unable to fix what had already been cut.
She laid beside him at night,
Watching the dark spot where the star was hidden.
"You see there," he pointed to the ceiling, waking up his wife with a nudge.
"Mhmm," she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes and staring upwards.
"I was born to do great things," he said, drawing the star in the air with his finger.
He retracted his hand and laced it with hers. He said: "in the dark, you see nothing. I am no longer there." His wife barely whimpered from fatigue, listening to his absurd lover.
"I don't shine when you're here because my star shines in you."
His wife shook her head, her mass of hair rippling on the ocean of her pillow.
"What about during the day?" she asked, squeezing his hand with hers like a heart pulse.
He chuckled, rolling over to face his beautiful wife. "Darling, you don't see me during the day," he tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "How could you tell if I shine then too?"
She watched his face blazed with curiosity, his lips parted the way he always did when she spoke. It was like he needed her air to breathe, which is in fact true. "Because," she started, a lazy half sleepy smile spreading on her mouth, "my star shines in you."
