all that I see are stars

Going for a walk in the yard tonight, it is something that I have done for the past fifteen years of my life, give or take a few years. We have around three acres with duel rows of pine trees along the boundary of most of it. On two sides it borders roads – one paved, one gravel – and is bordered on the third by a field. The yard is a triangle, though I’m not sure what kind.

I take these walks and the night is usually pretty quiet. The wind blows. Trees rub and mutter against each other. The occasional cars goes by, its engine and the rumble of its tires against the pavement building, peaking, receding.

Overhead, far enough out in the yard, you’re effectively walking in shadow and the stars decide they can move from the safety of their depths and wink from the reaches of their existence.

Ten years ago I looked at the stars differently. They were beacons of the possible. I would look at the stars and think of speeches made by Kennedy’s in the 60s. The night sky was a reflection of a belief that life held limitless possibilities.

Walking around the yard tonight, I appreciate the beauty more. The feel of the breeze, cool, slipping across my face like lingering hands of a teen love. The smell of the pines of the grass and of the night air itself which just feels cleaner and smoother than the air of the day. Underfoot, the grass gives and is damp with the beginnings of the morning dew.

But the sky now feels like what might have been.

I had once dreamed of actually seeing the moon, setting foot on it. Maybe even seeing mars. I know now that neither will happen for me.

I dreamed of wealth, something I am also certain will not happen and which I’m also not entirely certain I would be able to handle anyway.

I dreamed that the world would just make sense at some point. That life would make sense.

Now it is more confusing than it was then and I see less point to it. Now it might be worse because I’m not longer riding the emotional highs of puberty so that even though I thought life was shit for long stretches of time, I was also too deliriously high on it to accept it.

Now whatever depressions I slip into I never dip too low but I also never rise too high. Life is.And I haven’t made myself okay with this yet.

Still, I love the stars. I love the night air in the country. I love just going for a quiet walk alone. In the end, maybe that’s the real essence of life. Finding what yuo like and love and being happy with that.

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