I wish I could share the stars.
I don’t know when I started going out onto a dirt road and looking up at the sky by myself. It’s a moment of escape – the noise of the city is gone. There are no people scowling at me or smiling at me. The lights that cloud our view give way to the lights that God made for us. The world becomes still and peaceful, and all of creation fills my eyes.
But I wish I could share them with you.
I could tell you about them, but it wouldn’t be the same. I lay on the hood of the car, marveling at them, and wonder if my phone would take a picture of them I could send to you. But it wouldn’t be the same as being here.
I realize, for all it’s beauty it misses the most important element – you. Where you should be is on the other side of my hood, leaned back against the windshield, propped up so you can see the stars the same way I do.
For a while, that would be enough. That deep knowledge that I’m not seeing this alone, that I’m sharing it with you. No words would be spoken for a while – the only sound is our breathing and our heartbeats while we share in the universe’s splendor.
Eventually I’d have to reach over and hold your hand – deepening that sense of sharing in the moment. We would continue to look up – there’s no need for us to look at each other, we already know what the other one looks like. I know you’re beautiful. But for this moment, the beauty I want is painted on the sky, amplified by the beauty of your hand in mine.
It could be seconds later, it could be minutes later, or it could be hours later – time doesn’t really matter – I would have to break the silence: “Tell me what you see. Share your stars with me.” I know the stars that I see aren’t the stars that you see. Now I want to see the stars through your eyes. I want to share my stars with you, letting you see the universe through mine.
It’s not just about companionship. This level of sharing is an act of intimacy few ever experience. An experience that few ever even consider. A momentary trading of consciousness, a trick of our communication skills.
Eventually we’d exhaust the ability to communicate, having shared our stars so completely that we could no longer find words to explain the minute details we experience.
We would understand why God wired us to exist in pairs. With two people there are twice as many stars – each view is unique.
No matter where we went in life, you and I would have a unique connection, one that no one else could have – sharing isn’t just about the person that gives, but also about the person who receives. Each paring is too unique to produce the same experience again with another human. From that day forth, when one of us looked at the sky we would always see two sets of stars – my stars, and your stars.
We can share the stars.
———- Writing Notes ———
As you might expect from something that has “Part 2” in the title, this is the second half of something. 😉 You should consider reading the first half if you haven’t already, and I’ll not repeat all the bits and pieces about how this story came to be.
Yes, it’s a romantic view of a sky with someone, a thing that had never occurred to me until I started writing Part 1 in my head (which, obviously, wasn’t called Part 1 at the time.) And since you asked – no, it’s not a specific “you”, it’s a hypothetical you, some random girl. On the other hand, while it’s not written about a specific you, I’ll admit that there was a specific you on my mind at the time. That moment where I was writing in my head, and suddenly thought “I wish I could share this with her.” Suddenly from the first work forming in my head a second one leaped out and yelled “No, no, write me!”
Yeah, I wish I could share the stars – the two pieces put together are the closest I’ll ever get 🙂