When I was a child
My father and I
Used to sit outside
Our home at night,
And just gaze at the infinite skies.
He puffed away his cigarettes and I,
Was just happy to be by his side.
We had a routine, every time
where we’d look up to the sky
And try to tell the stars apart from the satellites.
They both burned brightly, he told me,
At least as far as the naked eye could see
And they were both special in their own way –
Because even though the satellites had a more radiant glow,
And were far easier to spot,
The stars glimmered like glitters across the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are.
But he told me that stars are not ‘little’ as I’d like to believe
He told me that our eyes can sometimes deceive,
That even the smallest stars are bigger than the earth
And we should not judge what we cannot really see.
He told me that satellites were artificial moons,
Designed for multiple usage,
To communicate, navigate, educate
It may be man-made,
But it is far from useless.
That was the day that I learned everything had its purpose.
We caught a brief sight of a shooting star
And I felt like the luckiest girl alive.
Once he told me,
You are just like the star that I’ve described to you.
You are a constellation of your virtues,
Hopes and dreams,
A whole person made up of fragments
Of thoughts and memories,
A collection of bad decisions, good decisions,
And everything in between.
I was far too young to understand
What he actually meant,
So I happily replied
“If I were star, you’d HAVE to be my satellite.”
And all he did was smile.
But how naive was I,
Because stars and satellites were
Only meant to somewhat allign,
But never quite to collide.
And my star has died,
The moment I lost my satellite.
My star has ran out of fuel supply.
My star is now only a stellar remnant
In the form of a black hole
Sucking everything I have ever known
And everything I’ve loved
In the speed of light.
And I am lost
I am navigating through life,
Without a map in hand,
Crossing stream after stream, even though I’ve never learned to swim
Taking unfamiliar roads,
I don’t know where they lead exactly
But at least I’m still walking.
And I wonder if he’d be proud of me.
I still sit outside of my home
from time to time
I light up a cigarette and breathe in the nicotine,
Just for that familiar scent
Of him again.
I hold up the cigarette, still burning on one end
It feels like holding a falling star in between my hand.
And as I let my chemical-laced breath
Warm up the night breeze,
I know for sure that he is with me.