Look, the stars are falling down

Too many falling stars to make wishes on tonight, and it always feels cheap to wish on a falling star that you see during a meteor shower. You know that stars will be falling, you came outside to watch them, if you wished on them it would be like fishing for compliments. That other night though, there was no meteor shower, I was there for the stars and for you. I only saw one bright streak across the sky, and I made a wish on it.

We pay attention to the sky with the same intensity that we paid to each other that night months ago, every motion crucial as we inched nearer to each other. A misstep could be made at any moment, so we studied breath and strength and whispered words until you were holding me in your arms. Until you got the courage to kiss me for the first time, and it's like finding solid ground beneath me.

And now, thousands of kisses later. Thousands of falling stars later too, thousands of wishes. This night is so different from the other one but it feels the same. The wish that I made that night, cheesy as it was, was about you. I wished that you would be happy, and that was all, that you could find a way to quiet your demons. Tonight I remembered that wish, and like to think that it came true in part (demons are never completely silent, no matter how hard we wish them to be), and that you're happy right now as we lay next to each other and watch the stars fall down.

Sitting in the spa, and we're surrounded by empty glasses. The night is cool, and the air is quiet.

The city lights are far enough away that when we look up, it seems like God has a midnight cloak, and it's covered in shattered diamonds

I tip my head back and close my eyes, catching drops of cold rain on my tongue. You pour your champagne into my mouth and give me that mischeivous smile.

You tell me how much you love the Pleiades. I show you where Rigel and Betelgeuse are.

We watch meteors burn their way down the sky, and when I look at you I see the starlight bouncing off your pale, smooth skin, making you glow. The Moon is a woman, and she is you. Naked and glistening and smiling at me.

My hands find you, and draw moans and gasps from your throat, and we whisper beautiful things to each other.

It's a storm of moments that last for an indeterminate length of time. Because time doesn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is sensation.

hot
cold
wet
dry
rough
smooth
dark
bright
hard
soft

It doesn't last, because this sort of thing can't. But it is perfect unto itself, and when I see the stars falling, I come back to this place, and let the echoes of this memory reverberate slowly across my mind.

We were young and strong and sexy, and the night sky was ours.