Night Time

I remember a time when I’d lie in bed, looking up at the stars, wondering if the person who would love me was gazing at the same sky. I’d choose a star, believing that if someone out there was destined to be my lover, they’d be looking at it too. From being so certain that someone would love me one day, when did I become so full of self-pity? What changed?

Such a cliché: 'Is he looking up at the same sky?'

I was a cliché, but I was hopeful. I would wonder where he was, what he was doing, what he was feeling...

'Did he ever think of me the way I thought of him?'

Now, I know. No one is thinking of me right now. At night, I don’t look up at the sky and search for stars anymore.

I’m not completely lost in my misery; there’s still a small part of me that hopes someone out there might care about me, someone who could make me feel lovable. The sun is about to rise, the stars will soon disappear, and here I am, thinking about love again.