I had to look...

I tried to catch pieces of the moon falling through my bedroom window , but the tiny chunks of fragmented light were dying too quickly for me to save.
Everything seemed so permanant.
The stars hung against the black backround of night like the tiny glow-in-the dark stickers we put up in your bedroom that afternoon when we were 7 years old.
I wanted so badly to hold all that dying light in my hands and to run my fingers over the crackling, firey layer.
I waited.

You came to pull down the heavens for me.
You reached up and caught the edge of the sheet of stars with your thumb, and dragged down all the swirling light into my arms.
But no one can fight morning, and by the time I realized how important you were to me, the sun had come up and night was gone.

Sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about you.
I wonder if you remember me: the curve of my thumb...my arms around you...the taste of coffee on my tongue...
I'd like to think you remember it all.