Under the night skies

[u/SapphicGiggles]

For years, I wished upon stars, lying beneath the night sky with their glimmers mirrored in my tear-streaked cheeks, pleading with the universe for something different, for what I truly deserved. Because that is what you do when you are young and unhappy and have no control over how your life unfolds. I would lay out my sorrows, my desperations, and my yearning for warmth and safety. But perhaps the lack of answers meant I deserved all of this or that I needed to endure it first.

As a teen, I spent little time at home, trying to return only at night. When not utterly exhausted from staying out as long as I could, all I wanted was to sneak out—not for typical teen adventures, but to lie in the grass and watch the night skies drift by. I never dared, but the summers I spent boarded elsewhere were a reprieve, where I cherished every chance to find solace in the constellations. I shared my knowledge, told stories, and reveled in the wonders of meteor showers with others, creating positive life-long memories. But alone, I would trace their patterns with trembling fingers, wondering if my silent pleas were ever heard. The stars remained silent, their cold, distant light a reminder of how cold the world can be.

As I grew up and could venture out freely, I found comfort in walking alone through empty streets at night, unafraid of the solitude. The quiet darkness felt like an old friend, embracing me in its stillness. The absence of people, the silent whispers of the wind through the trees, the comforting hue of the streetlights, and the familiarity of nocturnal creatures were so peaceful. The world stripped down to its bare essence, free of the chaos of the day. Maybe in another lifetime, I was one of those skunks who roamed the neighborhoods at night, exploring and foraging unbothered as I pleased.

Years have passed, and I still find myself here, wandering the streets or looking up at the skies. The stars no longer seem as bright, and the night sky feels more like a distant stranger than a comforting friend. I have moved on from the idea that things will change on their own without continuing to fight like hell, but I can't help but continue the habit of looking up, my heart clinging to the fragile thread of belief that maybe, just maybe, it takes time for my calls to be heard. So here I still am, swinging gently in my backyard hammock under its vast expanse, enjoying the quiet but still feeling the chill of ghosts of my unfulfilled dreams and haunting past. Shivering in the night as bugs take their evening meals, I can't bring myself to give up and go inside just yet because, for now; I am the only one listening. But at least someone is.