“How can you so fully dislike the starry sky?”
She’d asked it so plainly, not unlike a therapist waiting to catch the wrong phrasing and say just the “right” thing to change a patients mindset. It was annoying; being viewed as something that needed molding. Being obliged to answer honestly by my lack creativity to lie, I answered:
“Well, whenever I look up at that infinite expanse of burning, winking, and jesting I can never look down without gravitating towards the next cluster of unappreciated potential I see. And those are never in route to want anything to do with someone like me. “
I waited momentarily for a lecture that wouldn’t come. She spoke:
“It’s good then, that it’s just the two of us. Not a lick of witted potential between us. but if you ask me-”
She gestured skyward.
“-with his help we just might accomplish something wink worthy and full of that burning and jesting that apparently merits potential.”
I’d later swear I’d seen the first shooting star that night. The first to never touch the sky.