You swore it blinked, you swore it was star. Curled up in the comfort of your arms, it didn’t matter to me if you thought it was a star. I still believe that it was a planet. Stars confused me. I needed tangible proof, and shinning planets made more sense to me than stars.
But you, you were so convinced that stars were looking down at us with love and hope and grace. So convinced that I almost wanted to believe myself. It was one of the things I loved about you, your conviction and commitment to what you believed to be true.
But it wasn’t enough, was it? They didn’t see it like we did. While we found beauty in our different opinions, they needed us to think alike; to believe in the same stars. It was all good and well at the start, but you knew you wanted someone who believed in stars as much as you did, didn’t you? You needed our children to grow up believing in stars. You knew you’d love me better if I believed in stars and I knew I wouldn’t be myself if I did.
I hope you find your star, my love.
And I will find my planet, my solid ground.