Away from the fire,
Alone together at last,
We gazed into the starry
Heavens and held hands,
Her beautiful yellow eyes
Sparkling with starlight.
Taking it all in, she said,
“Do you ever wonder what
There is beyond our cloud
Of stars, our Milkomeda?”
So curious, I loved that.
We searched the inky
Nothingness Beyond for
Answers, but found none.
“There’s an ancient myth
About the stars, y’know,
Ever heard of it?”
“Of course,” she answered,
“We’ve all heard the myth.”
And then she began reciting
it as though she believed it;
As if it were some magical
Tale from her childhood:
“It is said that a long, long
Time ago,” she began, the
Way the elders spoke of it,
“The sky was an endless
Universe of star clouds,
Just like ours. Endless.
And we came here from
A different world with
A dying sun…”
“That has to be a myth,”
I broke in, “I mean, where
Could they have all gone?”
I took her in my arms.
“Billions of clouds, each
With billions of stars…
Imagine if it were true!”
We laid together that night,
Looking away from the fire
And into that murky void
Of unanswered questions
Beyond our own star cloud,
Knowing that we had each
Other, and yet somehow
Feeling very alone.
