A Night at the Planetarium

Universe.  Hubble.  Orion.  Andromeda.  Stars.  Galaxies.  Constellations.

For someone who dreams too often about being among the celestial bright bodies of our evening skies, the presentation of Universe at the Morris Planetarium last Thursday night was nothing short of extraordinary.

For a time, I shared this fascination and love of stars with a man quite special.  However, as with all beautiful things, our relationship slowly turned to stardust.  Sitting in the Planetarium that evening, in the presence of these entities he and I once talked about, I wanted very much to turn to my right and see him sitting next to me . . . quietly smiling as he always does and gently squeezing my hand ever assuredly.  And I thought (perhaps foolishly) that if I just closed my eyes and wished hard enough, somehow the Pinocchio effect--that Disney magic--could happen a second time.  I was, after all, in the midst of countless twinkling stars.  Alas, when the presentation came to an end, the possibility of that real boy came to an end, too. 

As I walked out into the night, I was greeted by a sky full of stars (or as he and I used to call it, a sky full of moles).  Though bittersweet, I was genuinely happy to be reminded of him and to think about us as we were once, instead of what we are no longer.

And for a brief moment, I stood quietly under the brilliance of those bright stars . . . reveling, appreciating, and simply remembering the feeling of being.