stars

If I could, I'd lay with my back against some lonely asphalt highway, car silent, staring up at the constellations that would bleed into the velvet of the dark mountain sky. I'd listen to this song on endless repeat until I grew tired of it or it lulled me to sleep, thinking and dreaming about everything and nothing and those spots in between. Far, far away, a couple would be having sex, hoping roommates can't hear them; while I would make love with my eyes to the stars, content in my aloneness, tangible and tasteless like water--but only just this once.

I am tired of lying.