Stars above the river. I've come to understand that I'm not the only one here who feels alone, but somehow that bit of ironic knowledge doesn't help me escape visions of you.

You, in a now threadbare apartment, with the lights off, and standing in your doorway I'm too afraid to ask what's happened, where your stuff is, all that clutter both maddening and endearing at once. You smile, and tell me everything is alright, and I can't tell if you're just making polite noises at me or if you mean what you say. When I asked if you were doing okay, it wasn't just the idle question so many others toss around. My presence there should have demonstrated that, and my presence here, now, on a night riverbank, should erase any doubt.

But you don't see me. You haven't seen me in a long time, save for my concerned visit.

Hair falling in your sleepy face, nervous laughter.

Do you remember the open cold night we went to see the comet? Dragged a cheap little telescope down to this very river together, and it took me two days to figure out how to aim it properly, but there it was in Newtonian reflector glory, and I could see your breath in the frozen air as you spoke of the wonders of the universe, maybe never knowing that to me, you were the wonders of the universe.

Or maybe you did, and used that to get what you wanted from me. When you're worshipped it's easy to get obedience.

The way you kick at the ground as I stand in your doorway filling the void with platitudes to hide from you. If this is how it has to be now, maybe I don't belong here.

But standing with the stars above the river, I can't imagine where else I would.