The stars, they smile.

He looks so beautiful in this dim, dim lighting. My thoughts wander. Sharing the night air with the flickering lighting bugs as they perform their meteoric dance. We are sitting in the grass, surrounded by the tall, thin green blades and how the breeze lazily pushes them against the skin of my bare arms. How they tickle the tiny hairs on my pale, freckled flesh. It's a warm breeze, coddled by the summer evening. And it's at that moment I decide while watching him gaze up at the sky, that I think I might actually love him. There's this contentment in his soft smile when he every now and then points out a particular star with such animated enthusiasm he rarely ever expresses about anything. And, it's so unique, this feeling.

It's such a blessed sensation that I get to experience it. That such a guarded person as he, allows himself to fall into something so gradual, so vulnerable. It's this moment that I can recount so many times I see that same smiling face with a different texture. During the tireless hours of zoning off in our classroom, while the teacher drones on. Or how he boredly picks at his food during lunch. It's refreshing to see a different expression on his face. Even if it's for the evening.

Despite the lack of proper lighting, it's not hard to miss the way his candy green apple eyes trace each star above us. I never thought a boy could look so lovely as he does now. Long, soft lashes, full lips - I'm sure if I were to put these thoughts into my words, he'd be more than sore with me. Understandably so, given the combination of physical standards and our youth of what's socially acceptable. Regardless, I can't help but admire. He's a vision, and I'd give anything for him to know it.

He must have felt my weighted stare, because he finally pulls his gaze from the countless stars that are watching back, his smile fading only slightly around the corners as our eyes meet. And like a chicken I am, I readjust my focus towards the low dipping moon, snapping my attention to it. The design is careless. Along with it, the sky looks as though it were left in the care of a child, like a jar of marbles being tossed onto dark, silk satin sheets. I try to pretend that I hadn't been staring at him for the past half hour while he excitedly traces the little dipper with his index finger, explaining why it's called that and the lore behind it. I'll admit, I hadn't retained a single word. He can be so distracting, though I'd never tell him that. There's a part of me that wants to know his thoughts, I know he's returning my mannerisms prior. I know he's watching me with those vacant eyes. I want to know what he's thinking, but maybe I really don't. Maybe it's the unknown I am so enthralled with. Which is funny, now that I think about it. Being notoriously known as the ball of spindled anxiety that I am. It's a wonder that a part of me likes the little dash of excitement. He gives me balance. His cool, collected calm helps me find an anchor that I could latch onto.

He's given me so much, that my anxious thoughts whisper to me, asking if I have anything to offer in return. Do I? My recollections bring me to my countless panic attacks. How each time he's always there. Comforting me with his logic, even when I don't want to hear it clash against my irrational fears. We have always been so stuck in our ways.

"Thanks for coming with me." His soft gratitude pulls me from my clutter of thoughts. It makes me wonder if he could hear them because it feels more like an assurance. I swear my heart stops once I feel his slender fingers close around mine and I hate how the contact makes me flinch. But there's patience in his smile and an understanding in his wavering eyes. For the moment, I can feel like we are the only two left in the world. I've always imagined falling in love would be much like falling out of a bed and onto a cold, hard ground. But, this is far worse. It's scarier. Yet, I can't help but live off it.

During our last years of high school, he taught me that it was okay to be my anxious self, that he wouldn't change a single thing. From my mousy, messy hair to my wrinkled clothes that I wear, that he'd reserve a special smile just for me and that his hand in mine were just meant to be. But older years would have a different fate, another say. Mine will take me far away, away from the farmlands we grew up, away from him and into the city to further my dream. He'd be so happy, encouraging me to chase it. It's bittersweet. I'll regret being so selfish, but mistakes were meant to be made for a reason. I'll move to San Francisco.

I don't like it here, the light pollution makes it hard to see the night sky. My parents told me that growing up wouldn't be easy, but I never imagined it being this hard. Maybe it's his absence that makes it so unbearable, I don't know why I question it, because I know this is the answer. I want nothing more than to return to him, but time hasn't been kind to me. Or us for that matter and there's still a lot I have to take care of here. Maybe it's silly that the only reason I want to see the stars so much is that they remind me of him.

But, if I squint hard enough through the artificial yellow lights at night. I could just barely make out the stars above me. And I swear, they are smiling back. A smile, like his, that's reserved just for me.