Every night of the summer before my junior year, I would go swimming with a friend. One of my favorite things about swimming with him was that he often helped me float, something I could never do on my own; he had to hold my legs because they were too short to balance the rest of my body. Each time I would float, I would hope to myself that I would catch a glimpse of the sky not muddled with tree tops underneath it or streetlights, but soft blanketed night sky, like black velvet.

Of course, this never happened. In fact, I was lucky if I even saw in my panoramic view--half of the sky. It managed to appease my childlike curiosity though, and I always went home happy knowing that I saw into something that most people don't even recognize as a being.

I went swimming tonight. My friend moved away about a year ago, so I swim solo these days. I still can't float. I've felt lead weights dragging me down each time I try and I'm not sure if I ever should try again. With my neck craned, I look up into the oblivion and I still see an empty sky with a busy view.

But perhaps tonight was the first time I ever saw the sky like an ocean, embracing every single object, trees and large buildings... trying not to fall into it.. trying not to get wet with emptiness. And clouds came rolling in like waves. Frothy, they covered a meaningless void that I still remained to yearn for, despite its nothingness. Breath washed away patches of foam exposing little stars, drowning victims, crying for help but dying slowly.

I shivered and looked away. And then I left. I didn't look back at the sky as I walked home, probably because for the first time in my life, I realized that humans are nothing more than that star I just described--occasionally exposed to freedom, but utterly pathetic when captured by eye.

I've always found some sort of association between society and stars. They form in small clusters that appear as one body. The feeling that smaller stars are noticed only because of a brighter star nearby. But never have I felt so many emotions at once from staring at a single, abject star in its own pool of misery.

From glee to loneliness, I felt it all.

Empty again, the sky stared at me with contempt. It had a lot on its mind, but I wasn't sticking around to listen.

Out my driver's side
There is a clear night sky
full of constellations,
none that I can reach

filled with inquiries
for which I have no clue

Long drives always create this:
so much blank space
too much to ponder, not enough time to do it in.

Gazing upward does not reassure,
it only leaves me wanting,
not knowing what I want in return

It is a vast curious sky,
but selfish, like me.
I have my own list of questions I want answered first.

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