People look up at night, wishing on airplanes they hoped were stars. When I was a kid, I did the opposite, staying up late, staring out my window and wondering if that star could be your plane. I didn’t need a shooting star, I didn’t need to make any wishes, I just needed it to be you. I needed to know you were on your way.
At some point, I stopped waiting by that window. You were the one that stayed, and it was her turn to be gone. I stopped waiting by that window, because I knew even stars wouldn’t bring her back to me.