Milky Way Words

11-30-12

And I remember how the milky way was painted on your ceiling. Maybe that's when I first started falling love with the stars. 
Or maybe it was when I realized that when you look up, your looking into the past and maybe that makes me think that the past isn't ever really gone. That I never have to actually part with it. 
Maybe I fell in love with the stars when Renee told her audience to look up, to remember them, and to know that they are always there, even in the dirt and clouds. 
Maybe I fell in love with them when I realized that they help me have hope and healing like she so wisely put it.
Or maybe I wanted to be a part of something bigger, of something that would last, and that people could also fall in love with. 
Maybe I wanted you to fall in love with the stars with me.
Or maybe it was when I realized that Galileo fell in love with the same moon and stars I'm falling in love with and maybe that makes me love them more. 
I don't know every, or even very many scientific facts about the stars, our galaxy, but I do know I love them and that helps me remember that I don't have to know every detail or important fact or have some brilliant understanding of something to hold it dear, to love it with such compassion.
Stars help me remember that I'm alive, that though life is dark, parts still shine, and oh how they shine.

I remember how either you or I would always call at 9:01 because the minutes were free. 
Maybe that helped me fall in love with words said out loud and and the power they have. Though the minutes were free then, I feel like they're not free anymore. Minutes are more than moments, but we treat them like pennies left out in the rain. 
Or maybe it was when I heard my first spoken poet that my love for words manifested.
Never mind the origins, or whether the holes in my soles have anything to do with the holes in my soul. My love affair with words isn't really an affair, and my secrete love of stars isn't really a secret.
I'd rather enjoy spending an afternoon or many, pouring out my words and sharing them with you.
I'd so desperately want to watch the stars next to you and see if your eyes are a reflection of the galaxy.

Never mind the origins, or whether the holes in my soles have anything to do with the holes in my soul. My love affair with words isn't really an affair, and my secrete love of stars isn't really a secret.
I'd rather enjoy spending an afternoon or many, pouring out my words and sharing them with you.
I'd so desperately want to watch the stars next to you and see if your eyes are a reflection of the galaxy.

I suppose it could have been when I read sentences and paragraphs and books after books that words became more than letters carefully constructed together.