I used to find solace in the the silence of the night, in the lonely ritual of burning midnight candles. I would make peace with the heavens. The tip of my nose would press upon the cold window, my soul would sing for the stars shining bright. But cold winds have have blown the candles dry, and my bones are too brittle to strike another match. So the stars began to retreat and hide away with each passing year, becoming a rare sighting. And I too hid away the constellations of my thoughts. Now I sit in silence, and I absorb. I open my pores to my brothers and sisters of the night, who too are strangers to rest. I absorb their smiles and their pain, the births, and loss, why he left and why she stayed. With each passing minute my insides beg for rest. But I refuse, until I feel my eyes closing on their own accord. If I am lucky, I am burdened with heavy stones weighing down upon my eyelids. I succumb to the weight, pressing them down with my finger tips. I let the stones sink. bending the cornea of existence until all I see are stars. I unleash the phosphene galaxy within me, so that even after I wake and lift the blanket of darkness off of me, it is all that I will be able to see. Stars, in the eyes of everyone around me, and in my own, replacing their faces and blurring their words.
Maybe they will see stars too.