It sometimes happens that when you take a walk under the stars, you can instead find yourself among them.
When I walk with you, I am reminded of all those obscure specks from the corners and coves of the globe which somehow unite to illuminate the earth from within.
When I walk with you, strangers come up to you and start conversations. Dads chat with you in line for the waterslide, office ladies out for lunch at the pub laugh with you in the cramped elevator, a painter in his little shop tells you about the outdoor Van Gogh museum in Holland, and a girl at an art gallery teaches you how to step back to see the whole landscape.
If I’m a well-rounded globe, you’re a flat earth that is textured and infinite.
When I walk alone, people never approach me like that. When we’re together, it’s like the daisies bend towards you (and I get to sniff them)! Walking with you, it’s like sprinkling fairy dust.
Textured and infinite– I can see it expanding for miles and seconds, I can see you in the night sky.
For a moment I see footprints dancing on the moon, then a star shoots across the sky
lighting up the entire milky way. There must be some God or fate
because the constellations twinkle for you, girl.
You say you’re not a team player, and you may forever be a soaring comet
in the heat of space and time–
But girl, you’ll never walk alone.
Featured image from WikiArt: Van Gogh’s ‘The Starry Night’ (1889)