The stars don’t beg to be seen.

There wasn’t much to say that night that wasn’t already hanging in the air. She knew he saw it in her eyes, just as she could feel in his chest where her head rested and ears listened. She listened intently to the molecules circulating in him, pumping steadily the life that was ever-changing him and making him new.

They both knew it, but they wouldn’t give these emotions the decency of being put to words. It’s a shame, really. They would have been beautiful had they been uttered. But for now, those words would remain in her eyes and in his chest. Tonight was not the night for those words. Perhaps another night, or maybe not. Maybe those words were to forever remain there, hanging in the air, just as the stars hung in the same place in the sky, night after night, never wandering, never worrying about where to hang tomorrow. Just like the stars, those words were constant. They didn’t need to be seen or heard to be known. They just were and they would be tomorrow too.

She raised her head slightly to look at him, inquisitive of his thoughts, hoping to catch a glimpse of them in his cafe-colored eyes. The creases around his eyes etched a smile into his face as his eyes focused in on hers, wondering what her questioning eyes could want. His nose brushed hers and his deep, brown eyes asked for a kiss. But with her lips lightly pressed against his, she just smiled. To not only see it, but to feel a smile against yours, knowing that you are the reason for that grin — it’s perfect.

She pulled her face away from his and found his eyes again. She brushed her hands through his hair, kissed his cheek, and laid her ear against his chest where it had been before.

Words weren’t necessary, but he decided it was rude to leave them hanging around.

I love you, he whispered, but she already knew.

I love you too, she said, though he’d already seen it in her eyes.

The stars don’t beg to be seen, nor did those words beg to be spoken.

You know the stars will always be there, hanging in the sky just as they did yesterday, but you look anyway. Beauty doesn’t need to ask to be desired. It is because it is. And though there wasn’t anything to be said that night that they didn’t already know, those words were spoken.

They didn’t need to say anything at all, but it would have been rude to leave such beautiful words just hanging there.


Five-minute Friday: On distance.


One of my favorite quotes is this by Henry David Thoreau: “Nothing makes the earth seem so spacious as to have friends at a distance; they make the latitudes and longitudes.”

My heart knows the truth of the statement.

Distance is my most loyal companion. I can’t recall how it chose me, but never a day goes by when I am not aware of its presence; it’s daunting, haunting, heart-aching presence.

I hate it. I hate the way it rudely bursts through the door of my heart and invites loneliness in. I hate the way it walks so faithfully by my side at the most inconvenient times. It never leaves, always forsakes, and forces me to be patient though it is never kind.

Distance makes my heart ache in ways I didn’t know a heart could ache. Waiting; longing; more waiting. So many miles between my heart and the hearts who hold her.

I dream of a day when distance is a memory instead of this heart-aching reality. Though I know I will always have friends all over the world, maybe someday they won’t all be so far away.


(Prompt from Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama.)

Five-minute Friday: On waiting.


I watch the stars hover over my quiet city as I walk home from work. The clouds move quickly and I see the moon. I listen to the silence, breath in, and smile with the stars while I wait for you.

And I keep walking.

Home. I leave my things in my room; wash my face; brush my teeth; check facebook; read blogs; turn out the lights; crawl under the covers; think; dream; wish; wait.

And I keep waiting.

I lie in bed and stare at the black ceiling. I hear rain outside, but it is muted by this faint song — this quiet lullaby I fall asleep to while I wait for you.

Always this song, this song with notes, but no words. | your heart. | It’s the song you’re writing that accompanies the song in my heart. And I listen to this distant song while I wait.

And I keep listening.

It’s beautiful. Someday we will be a beautiful melody. Your rhythm; my rhythm; one song. But for now you’re writing your song, and I’m working on my song. For now there is waiting.

And I’ll keep waiting for you.


(Prompted by Lisa-Jo at The Gypsy Mama.)

This December night.

I wish I could capture this essence for you, to share with you my Christmas joy, and the way I smile when I walk though I walk alone. I wish I could share this with you — the sweet sound of a saxophone and intimate chatter and the laugh of friends and lovers as I walk, walk through the cold that is not too cold, but just cold enough to remind me it’s December.

The sky is beautiful tonight. It’s clear, so I can see the stars and airplanes. And I do. I watch them. I watch the planes and wonder where they’re going and dream I am going there too. And I watch the stars. I see them. I see their greatness and I understand their feelings of insignificance. Just stars without names among a billion other stars without names, all trekking trillions of miles to shine for me, but they will never know me either, for I am only one of billions who think these stars shine for them too. Tonight, here in this place, the stars are nearly forgotten as they are drowned out by these lights, a string of glowing balls whose childlike gleam dances with the saxophone.

I breath in the cold, dry air, I close my eyes, and I smile. I want to remember this — this seemingly small joy that is nothing small at all. I feel it in the deepest part of who I am; I feel it from my fingers, through my lungs, and down to my toes. It is peace. It is goodness. It is joy, and love, and happiness. It is the knowledge of others’ joy overwhelming my heart.

I sing Christmas songs under my breath. Have yourself a merry little Christmas, I whisper to the stars. O come let us adore him, I beckon to the wind. The rustling of bags, full of surprises; the clicking of a woman’s heels as she hurries to finish errands after a long day of work; the eagerness of a child, pulling his mother’s arm in the direction of the long line for an old man in a red suit — they sing with me. The sounds of Christmas ring in my ears as my song goes on, unheard and unnoticed by those who are caught up in their own joys. Yet I am joyful. I treasure these things in my heart, quietly, and I keep on walking, accompanied by the gleam of this December night.

I am satisfied here, though I wish I could share this with you — the way my face lights up when I hear my Christmas song, and the way my heart soars when I think about the Christmases to come. Someday I’ll share this with you, but until then, whoever you are, wherever you are tonight, I pray you know a piece of this joy too.