The Stars of Starry Night 4/5 (1)

His favorite painting was Starry Night.

Gazing at the bright yellow and white stars swirling into the dark blue night.

And you see I was those stars.

And he was the dark night sky.

Our colors beautifully blending together,

Contrasting in the most breathtaking way.

His dark blue brush strokes wrapped around my bright yellow ones.

Kissing every star making up the sky.

The sky made love to the stars.

Colors bleeding together with slight hints of light green.

We were a harmony of hues spreading across the canvas.

But time carried on.

Our colors fading and separating.

The sky was almost unrecognizable.

We were no longer the beautiful colors blending together in a harmony of hues that made the choice of the piece.

He no longer looked at me the way he looked at those stars.

I felt as if I were a cheap replica of a masterpiece

With too harsh of lines and color two shades too light.

He was no longer my sky.

The colors blended into a muddled mess.

We were no longer the masterpiece everyone awed at.

And that night that everything went down,

The arguing,

The anxiety,

The crying,

Because he wasn’t aware of the stars that waited patiently at his door.

Growing dimmer and dimmer with each missed call as I stood at his front door.

Each knock and ring of the doorbell gone unnoticed.

I was no longer his stars.

And after we said our goodbyes,

I sat back in my car.

Looking into the clear and starless night.

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